Sacrifice
by r4ven3
Summary: 15 chapters, set during S.9, but after 9.1. When this story opens, Harry and Ruth are dating, having transcended the difficulties which arose after he proposed to her at Ros' funeral. An AU scenario, with some action, some romance, some swearing - so it's T-rated. Spooks characters belong to Kudos, while my own belong to me.
1. Chapter 1

His call to her again goes to voicemail, and this time he leaves a brief message.

"Ruth. I'm at the restaurant now. I'm now opening the door, and Maxim is about to take my coat."

It is there he ends the message, as he closes his phone, and nods to Maxim.

"Your lady is not here yet, sir," Maxim says in his slurred voice. He and Ruth had laughed the first time they'd come here. _The maitre d' who is always drunk_, he had called him, while Ruth had corrected him, pointing out that many Frenchmen speak that way, whether drunk or not.

"The French accent is no doubt part of his act …... his legend, if you wish. I'll bet his real name is Martin, and he comes from Sheffield," he had quipped, and Ruth had gently kicked him under the table, because as he'd spoken, Maxim had appeared beside him with their wine.

Maxim shows him to their table – the same one they ask for each time Harry makes their booking …... at the back of the room, in the corner. Out of the way, private, where they can hold hands and gaze into one another's eyes …... it is somewhere they can feel and act like any normal couple, who have just had a normal day at work, and wish to spend a normal evening out with one another.

Harry has ordered a whiskey, and has his eyes fixed on the door. He considers ringing her again, but he knows there will be a very good explanation for Ruth being twenty minutes late for their date.

And there is, but he doesn't yet know what it is.

Harry sits over his whiskey, contemplating the turn of events which had led to Ruth accepting his dinner invitation six weeks ago.

Alright, so asking her to marry him at Ros's funeral had not been his best idea. His best idea had been to forget about marriage for the time being, and to one night after work, ask her to join him for a drink. To his relief and barely suppressed joy, she'd said yes. Afterwards they had strolled along the embankment until light rain had begun to fall, and so he'd grabbed her hand while they'd run for a taxi. They had tumbled into the back seat of the taxi, laughing, and when he'd found her face close to his own, he had kissed her lightly, and she had not pulled away. Better than that, she had returned the kiss, until they heard the taxi driver ask: `Where to, sir?'

Ruth had recovered from the kiss first, sitting up and giving the taxi driver Harry's address.

"You know where I live? How?"

"The same way you know where I live," she had said, tapping the side of her nose, and then the taxi had quickly pulled into the stream of traffic, throwing her against him all over again. He'd placed his hands on her waist to prevent him kissing her again. His plan had always been to move slowly with her. He hadn't wanted to scare her off. He hadn't wanted to risk losing her all over again.

Which is why they have only been seeing one another once or twice a week, and they still have a celibate relationship. As difficult as he is finding this, he is certain it will be worth it in the end. To Harry, the reason for this is simple. For anything more to happen between them, he wants Ruth to want him as much as he wants her.

Suddenly, Harry has an idea, so he takes his phone to the alcove just inside the front door, and makes a call.

"Tariq, I have a job for you. You know that new software we all have on our phones? I need you to find Ruth for me …... and no, I'm not stalking her. We're meant to be having dinner together, and she's almost a half hour late, and that's not like her. Yes. Thank you." And Harry hangs up, and waits.

Two minutes later, Tariq rings him back, and what he tells him send chills down Harry's spine.

Harry rattles off a list of orders to Tariq, and no sooner has he hung up, than his phone rings. He is so relieved to see Ruth's name appear on his caller display that he almost cries.

"Ruth, where are you. Just tell me, and I'll come and get you. Are you alright?" he says.

"Sir Harry. So lovely to be speaking with you again. I'm sorry to be using Ms Evershed's phone, but I needed to be sure you'd answer." Male. Clipped accent. German? Dutch? Danish? "You probably don't remember me. I have your Ruth, and she's a fiery one."

Harry feels a sudden surge of heat and anger suffuse his body. He thinks he knows who this is, or at least, Harry believes that he knows his association with this man.

"Who are you?"

"You must remember Thomas Bergen. German Minister for the Interior, murdered in Cologne in November 1979."

"Yes," Harry whispers, "I remember." What kind of fanatic waits 31 years to carry out his idea of revenge?

"I am Klaus. I was 14 when my father died. Do you know what happened to my mother?"

"Look, whatever you think I did back in 1979, you're wrong. That bombing, as tragic as it was, was not the work of MI5."

"Then whose work was it?"

"You have to look closer to home, Klaus. Your own government were -"

"Do you know that they raped my mother? They raped her while I was forced to watch. They raped her because to kill my father was not enough."

"I'm so sorry you had to experience that, Klaus, but I reiterate …... that was not the doing of MI5. I did not give those orders. My people were not involved."

"I've been waiting for over twenty years for you to form a relationship with a women who matters to you. You are a sad bastard, Harry. Most men in your line of work have a wife and at the very minimum, one mistress. You have had neither for far too long."

Harry's stomach clenches. He knows what this is about. He knows what Bergen plans, and he doesn't want Harry on the end of a phone. He needs him there, in the same room as Ruth …... and he …... and whomever else he has ready to violate Ruth.

"Where are you?" Harry asks.

The address Bergen gives him is the same address in Wapping given him by Tariq. "And if I get even a sniff of CO19 or any of your other agents, I will wait until you are here, and kill her myself. Nothing would give me more pleasure."

Harry has no idea what atrocities – if any – Ruth has already been subjected to. He has to get to the address in record time, and he has to ring Tariq and Lucas. Then he has to leave it up to his team to make the decisions. He is emotionally compromised. He is not at his best.

But he cannot allow himself to fall apart. Ruth needs him to be calm and confident.

Calm? Confident? Who is he kidding? He can't stand by and watch while Ruth is sacrificed on his behalf. Not again.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry is sitting in his car just around the corner from the empty warehouse where Ruth is being held. He estimates he may be as little as fifty yards from her. He again rings Lucas.

"How far away are you?" Harry asks, his voice hoarse with unexpressed emotion.

"A little under ten minutes. You need to stay outside until we are set up."

"But what if they're already assaulting Ruth?"

"It can't be helped, Harry. Bergen may not even have Ruth. He may have stolen her phone, and knocked her out, leaving her by the road somewhere .."

"Well, thank you for that cheery image, Lucas."

"What I'm saying is that he may be setting you up for something entirely different, Harry. It's you he wants, not Ruth."

"And he can hurt me the most by hurting Ruth."

So it _is_ true, Lucas thinks, as he ends the call. The great man has fallen …... in love. _He really is no better than me, then,_ Lucas thinks. It happens to the best and the worst of men. He is still a couple of blocks away from the warehouse when he receives a call from the senior duty officer of CO19.

"One of my officers has Klaus Bergen in his sights. The good thing is he appears to be standing still, and not moving. Do you want us to act?"

"No. Not yet," Lucas says, turning his car down a laneway, hoping his sat nav is reliable. "I'd rather wait until we're all there. Harry Pearce wants to be inside the building, but I need to be outside, with a decent view of what's happening inside."

"The only view you'll get is if you're at the window of the building across the road, which is where my snipers are situated. My suggestion is you stay just outside the access door, and keep comms open with me."

"Will do," Lucas says, just as another call comes in. "Tariq?" he answers.

"I've just come across something weird," Tariq says.

"How weird?"

"I'm not sure. It's just that six weeks ago, two of our Berlin-based agents from Six suddenly dropped off the radar – Andrew Allen and Tom Sargent. I've checked with Gordon Horton at Six, and he's remaining shtum …... says he knows nothing about anything."

"Well, he would, wouldn't he? Andy Allen's a bit of a cowboy, so I wouldn't place too much importance on him disappearing. I've never heard of Tom Sargent."

"I just thought …... it feels like a hunch to me – you know, like those hunches Ruth gets – and I think I should pay attention to it."

"Yeah, well, our attention needs to be on getting her out of this without her being harmed. I can see the warehouse now, Tariq. How many people are in there?"

"First floor, to the right of the stairwell, there's a large open area, with floor to ceiling windows. Five people altogether, and only one of them is seated."

"That'll be Ruth," Lucas says. "This is one operation where we really could have used Ros Myers."

"Yeah," Tariq breathes, remembering their fallen comrade, and how he misses her sure presence. The world had been a much safer place with Ros in it. Even though there had been times when she'd scared the pants off him, Tariq had considered Ros a good sort – reliable, strong, dependable.

Lucas parks his car across the road from where Harry still sits behind the wheel of his own car. He jumps out, grabs something from under the passenger side seat, and runs across the tarmac, at the same time that Harry opens his car door, and stands to greet his agent.

"I'm going in," the older man says, his face mask like.

"Do you have everything you need?"

"I have everything I need, and I'm fully wired, so you and Tariq can listen in. I'll need that, I think," Harry says, gratefully taking the object offered by Lucas.

"Are you armed?" Lucas asks, knowing the answer already.

Harry shakes his head, and then prepares himself to go into a situation which is largely unknown to him, except that Ruth is inside, and he needs to be there …. to bring her home. As Harry steps into the building, he is struck by how dark it is, when outside it is more twilight than nighttime. He doesn't waste precious time thinking about it; he knows his eyes will adjust to the darkness inside the warehouse. Lucas follows Harry at a safe distance, his firearm at the ready. By the time Lucas reaches the foot of the staircase, his eyes have adjusted to the gloom, and Harry is already out of sight, his bulky body surprisingly agile as he climbs the stairs ahead, the older man's footfalls quiet as he moves quickly to the second floor. Lucas remains on the first landing, his back pressed against the concrete wall, his ears trained to the landing above, where he hears a door opening, and male voices speaking. Lucas must wait. To venture any further may endanger the whole operation. He just hopes that Harry is wearing his MI5 hat, and that he has his emotions well under control.

* * *

Harry enters the large open plan space on the second floor, and the first thing he sees is Ruth. She is around fifteen feet from him, tied to a chair, her hands tied behind her back, a gag over her mouth. The second thing he notices sends a shudder of fear through him. Whilst she is dressed in a long, flowing skirt, her legs are parted, her ankles tied to each of the back legs of the chair. The pose leaves her knees wide apart, and were her skirt to be lifted, her private area would be exposed. Were they planning to defile her in any way, they have her ready, and unable to move. He moves his eyes up to her face, where she is looking at him, fear evident in her stare, but defiance and anger her overriding emotions.

Harry hears a cough from behind him, just as he takes in the two men standing just behind Ruth, each one close enough to her to touch her, and in his peripheral vision he sees a dark figure, standing holding an automatic weapon. Three men and Bergen. After what is likely to be only seconds in real time, Bergen speaks.

"So you see, Sir Harry, we have the numbers on you." Bergen is behind Harry, but that may work to his advantage. "Even if you have people waiting outside – which I know you will have – your lady will be dead before they are half way up the stairs."

Bergen's English is accented, but perfect. Despite his troubled adolescence, he has no doubt attended the best schools, no expense being spared on his education and upbringing. To Harry, this is further evidence that his father's death, and mother's violation were perpetrated from within Germany. At that time – the late 70's – there had been no end of splinter groups within the country, attempting to upset the stability of the government of the day. Post-war Germany had entered a time of economic stability, even prosperity, which didn't suit the Baader Meinhof Group, and it's many factions, not to mention the copycat organisations. It had been a time during which socialist groups opposed the thriving capitalist values of the government in West Germany, claiming that social values of equality and opportunity for all were being undermined by the demands of economic growth, and increasing profits at all costs. Someone, somewhere had paid Bergen's way. He has clearly grown up with all the usual opportunities offered to other young Germans.

"She is not part of this, Klaus. Let her go. She was a child at the time your father died."

"As was I."

Harry feels a movement behind him, and Bergen speaks quietly, from just behind his left shoulder. He stays standing, looking ahead, his eyes never leaving Ruth's, while Bergen speaks. "One word from you, _Sir_ Harry, and I might change my mind. She's rather young, your lady love. More suited to me, I'd say. More my age …. more fiery. Not like you …... old, jaded, past it."

Harry stays still, listening to the words being spoken, words which are meant to upset him, words which are meant to push him into acting foolishly. Well …... Harry has quickly assessed the situation, and the only way out of this is for him to upset the current status quo, and hopefully to upset the balance of power in his own favour. He was once an effective field agent. Effective? He had been blisteringly good …... and lethal. Thirty one years on, he is out of touch with field work, unfit, drinking too much, his reflexes slower …...

But – _God_ – this time he has reason, and motivation enough to move mountains, were there mountains needed shifting.

With his eyes still holding Ruth's eyes, Harry acts quickly, lifting his left elbow, and shoving it backwards as hard as he can, he makes a direct connect with Klaus Bergen's nose. He has done the calculations – quickly – and he rightly figures that Bergen is two or three inches shorter than he. He hears an `oof', and then a cry from Bergen's throat, followed by a moan of `_Scheiße_'.

Harry's eyes move from Ruth's to see a gun pointed at him from behind Ruth's chair, and then he hears two rapid reports, followed by a sharp pain in his chest, and another in his upper left arm. He hits the concrete floor, and then lays still.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank you to readers, and to reviewers. I have to remind readers that plots are not my strength, and there will be a continuing plot of sorts which will drive the remainder of this story.**_

* * *

Once Harry's body rolls to a stop on the floor, a third shot echoes within the large room, the shot coming from a pistol held by the other man standing behind Ruth. The silent figure standing away to Harry's left, drops to the floor with a thud, blood pooling darkly on the concrete floor from a wound to his head.

All the time, Ruth sits, her eyes never leaving Harry, searching for any sign that he is still alive. She is gagged, so she cannot cry out, although she is certain that somewhere at the back of her throat, she is whimpering. She can't take her eyes from Harry's body, as she notices a small pool of dark, viscous fluid forming on the floor beneath his upper arm …... but not from his chest, where a dark hole has appeared in his shirt. She feels her tears, warm on her cheeks.

Suddenly, there is hurried movement around her, and hands are working on the ties which hold her ankles to the chair. She is sure she hears a voice saying – in English - `You'll both be alright.' Footsteps move from behind her to the figure of Bergen, kneeling on the floor close to Harry, both hands to his nose, blood pouring freely through his fingers. _There's a lot of blood-letting going on here_, she thinks, looking back at Harry, willing him to move. _Is that his fingers moving? Did his fingers just move?_

Meanwhile, Lucas is taking the stairs, three at a time, when he hears Tariq in his ear, the lad's voice louder than it should be.

"Lucas …. do no shoot. _Do not shoot_. The snipers have been asked to stand down."

_By whom?_ Lucas thinks, but he is too focused on the door he is about to enter, and so he chooses to not follow the train of thought begun by Tariq's message to him. He must deal with this alone. He has handled tougher assignments than this one, while wearing a blindfold, with one hand tied behind his back. By comparison, this is easy ….. all in an early evening's work.

Lucas quickly enters the room, his Glock held in front of him, while he assesses the damage. What he sees has him replacing the pistol in its holster inside his jacket, as he catches the eye of Andrew Allen, kneeling beside Ruth, checking her wrists and ankles. Another man has a short, blond-haired man on the ground, and is swiftly and skilfully tying the prone man's hands behind his back, while the man on the ground rattles away in German, familiar curse words like _Scheiße _and _Arschloch_, and _fick dich_ peppering his speech.

"Bloody hell, Andrew. I thought you'd gone rogue."

Andrew Allen, mid 40's, shoulder-length hair, dark stubble on his face, the scar across his right cheek visible in the fading light, offers Lucas a small smile.

"You'd better check your boss. He looks groggy. Tommy has to finish untying Ruth, and then check the other guy over by the wall. Don't worry about CO19. Our lot at Vauxhall Cross had this covered."

"What?"

"Check your boss first. Explanations later."

"You alright, Ruth?" Lucas asks, watching her closely for any sign of injury or distress.

Ruth nods vigorously, and just as her gag is removed, she says huskily, "I'm fine, Lucas. For God's sake, check Harry.

Lucas quickly kneels beside Harry, who then rolls from his side until he is able to look up at Lucas. "Bloody arm hurts," is all he says, followed quickly by an enquiry about Ruth. "How is she?"

"She's fine, Harry, but what about you?"

Harry tries to sit up, but his left arm is useless. "Fucking thing," he says quietly, so that only Lucas can hear him.

Lucas reaches out, and with his hand beneath Harry's right shoulder, he lifts him to a sitting position. "I suspect that the shot had to at least look like he was trying to kill you," Lucas offers.

Their conversation is interrupted when there is a rush of movement to Lucas' right, and a sweetly perfumed Ruth drops to the floor by Harry's wounded arm. For the moment, Lucas is in the way, so he checks with Harry, by looking him in the eye, and Harry nods to him, an indication he should give he and Ruth some space.

"Tariq?" Lucas says, remembering that his comms to the Grid are still open.

"I heard it. Harry was wearing a bullet proof vest. That was someone's good idea," Tariq says. "Ambulance is on its way. ETA …. 4 …. no, 3 minutes," he adds.

"Thanks, Tariq. I had a vest in my car. I'd planned to wear it myself but …... I thought he needed it more than me."

"Ruth'll be pleased."

"Yeah, she will," Lucas replies wearily, "once she gets over giving him a bollocking."

"She's telling him off?"

Lucas looks quickly towards his section head and analyst, and sees her cradling his face in her hands. "Not yet, she's not, but she will. He only has one good arm. That'll cramp his style for a while."

"Harry has a style?"

"Yeah, well ….. he has _something_. That much is clear."

* * *

By the time Lucas makes it to the hospital, it is almost midnight, and Harry is out of the operating theatre. He enters the hospital room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Apart from a small light over the night stand, the room is in darkness. He sees Ruth's small figure, curled up in an armchair beside the bed. Harry's eyes are closed. When Lucas reaches Ruth's side, she looks up at him and smiles, unfurling her legs from under her.

"Lucas," she says, "it's good of you to drop in. How's Bergen?"

"You want to know how your _captor_ is? Ruth, you're a very rare woman."

Ruth looks down, at her hands, her embarrassment clear. "I see him as a victim of circumstances beyond his control. I know how that feels."

Lucas sighs heavily, his body language conveying his weariness. "Sorry. For moment, I'd forgotten about what happened to you."

"I never forget, Lucas. It helps me to appreciate what I have now."

"I …. I imagine he's alright. He's no longer in the hospital. He's back at Thames House, under heavy guard."

"So what's the difference between heavy guard, and just normal guard?"

Lucas smiles to himself, as he leans his back against the side of Harry's hospital bed. "I'm not sure. I think it might have something to do with the weapons the guards are given …... or their weight in pounds …... or the size of their boots. His nose is broken – thanks to Harry – and MI6 are taking over."

"So MI6 set up the whole thing?"

"Kind of," Lucas says, not sure how much of this he should be telling Ruth …... not that she won't find out soon enough. All she'll have to do will be to press a few keys on her computer, and - _voila_ – she'll have the whole story in less time than it takes to tell Tariq to have his hair cut.

"Pull up a chair, Lucas. I could do with someone to talk to. It will be a while before Harry will be well enough to engage in healthy verbal sparring."

Lucas does as she suggests, and sits in a plastic chair, which Ruth has pulled from against the wall, and placed close to her own.

"How is he?" Lucas begins.

"He'll mend. He was in theatre for almost two hours. There was some muscle damage in his upper arm, but it will heal …... if I can keep him away from the Grid. He woke up after his op, but was in pain, so he's doped up, and hopefully will sleep through the night."

For a few minutes, the two colleagues sit in companionable silence. Lucas is aware of Ruth's ambivalence towards him. She doesn't hide her feelings, but nor does she openly articulate them. She is too polite for that. He is beginning to see how difficult it must have been for Harry to pin her down, to discover whether she was interested in him, and if she was, what they should do about it. Ruth is an enigma …... a very bright and shining enigma.

"I was kidnapped on false pretenses, wasn't I?" Ruth's voice is quiet, but her accusation is clear.

"I believe so."

"The outcome could have been …... catastrophic."

"Had Harry not been wearing a bullet proof vest, yes."

"He was shot in the chest on the expectation that he'd be wearing a vest. Did you know that, Lucas?"

"Of course not. I was playing it safe."

"Why me?"

"While back at Thames House this evening, I had a quick chat with Andrew Allen. He and Tom Sargent infiltrated the group which Bergen had formed. It was the only way they could get close enough to him. He's been mouthing off for years about balancing the books with the British security services. Six have been trying to catch him in an act of terrorism – any act at all - and preferably on British soil, so that they can deliver some good old-fashioned British justice. Klaus Bergen has been fixated on Harry for some time, ever since he discovered that he had been stationed in Berlin at the time of his father's death. It's a bit of a long story, but when Andrew heard Harry and you were ….. dating, he planned the whole thing. He saw it as a clean op with little chance of anyone innocent being hurt. All he had to do was ensure Bergen knew about you and Harry dating."

"I could have been raped!"

"Andrew and Tom would never have let it get that far."

"Andrew shot Harry! Why?"

"I can't tell you, Ruth. In retrospect, it seems like a careless act, but …... Harry _was_ wearing a vest."

"But what if he hadn't been? You know what Harry can be like."

"I suppose …... that Andrew surmised that given Harry and you are …... together …... he'd not want to risk his life on an op."

"But he'd risk his life for me," Ruth says quietly. "He believes he owes me."

Lucas sighs heavily. It's all too bloody complicated for him. He'd believed his bond with Maya to be complex, but this …... this _thing_ Ruth and Harry share represents a whole new level of complexity, a regular Chinese puzzle.

"Six have Bergen, and the military police are charging him. Both Andrew Allen and Tom Sargent were wired, and the events in the warehouse were recorded. Bergen will not be going home for some time."

Lucas leaves the room, turning to give Ruth one last wave. She doesn't even see his gesture, her attention being on the figure in the bed. As he heads down the corridor to the lifts, Lucas is saddened by the realisation that he has never been loved quite like the woman in the hospital room loves the sleeping man. For a brief moment, he envies them.


	4. Chapter 4

Sixty hours later:

Harry waits until the door closes behind the doctor's parting figure before he speaks. Ruth can almost hear his words before they are spoken.

"I will not stay in this place another night. I am bored, and I am -"

"Harry!"

"_What_?"

"Think."

"What do you mean, think? I _am_ thinking."

"No …. you're reacting. You're reacting to being told what to do. You always do that when someone else takes charge. You are so …... you are _so_ _predictable_!"

The fight suddenly goes out of Harry, as he looks closely at Ruth, a frown forming between his eyebrows, at the same time as his lips protrude in a pout. Ruth smiles at him kindly. Somewhere deep inside this man, an eight year old boy still lives.

"I am?"

Ruth nods. "It happens every time. The only person you ever allow to tell you what to do is …."

"You, Ruth. But that's because you're wiser than I am, and I trust your judgement."

"Then trust my judgement this time. Stay here. It's only one more night."

"Why?"

"There's still a risk of infection," Ruth sighs, smiling at him, "and you're easier to manage here than in your own home."

"_Manage_! So now I'm something to be managed! I'll show you what you'll have to manage."

Harry slides off the bed, from where he's been sitting, dressed in a hospital gown and his dressing gown which Ruth had brought him from home. He slides his good arm around her waist, and pulls her against him. She offers little real resistance, so he buries his face in her neck, and begins kissing the soft skin beneath her ear. She is enjoying his attention so much that she doesn't notice him move his hand from her waist to the side of her left breast. It is when she feels his thumb lightly caressing her nipple through her clothing that she pulls away, feigning outrage.

"Harry," she says, "this is a hospital."

"It is indeed," he replies, his eyes lazy as they watch her. "And a hospital is full of _beds_."

"For _sick_ people …... which is why you're here."

It is when Ruth pushes against his chest in order to get some distance from him, and Harry cries out in pain, that she stops, realising that she'd temporarily forgotten about his bruised chest.

"Sorry. Harry, I'm so sorry. I forgot."

Only that morning, when she'd called in to see him on her way to work, he'd proudly shown her the bruise on his chest, from the bullet which had been stopped by the vest. The bruise was very dark, and appears painful.

Harry steps back, and when she looks into his eyes, he is smiling.

"It's alright, Ruth. I'm just not yet match fit. In a few days, I'll be ..."

"Your stitches don't come out for another 5 days. Until then, you're anything but match fit."

Harry leans his back against the bed. "I need you, Ruth. I can't go a day without a kiss from you."

"Kissing's fine, but what you were doing was a lot more than kissing, and you know it."

Ruth can't resist him when he smiles at her in that way – his eyes shining, and his mouth twisted to one side. She reaches across, and places a soft kiss on his lips, and then pulls away.

"There will be more kisses when you come home …... tomorrow."

"As long as you'll be there, looking after me, Ruth."

"I'll be there, but I have to be at work during the day. You, on the other hand ….."

"I was back at work the day after Tom Quinn shot me."

"And you were in so much pain, you could barely think straight. No, Harry... you're no use at all to me if you don't give your body time to heal properly. Besides, Gareth Stonehouse is handling the Grid quite well in your absence."

"_Gareth Stonehouse_!"

"He's hardly the anti-Christ, Harry. As it turns out, he's rather effective. I think he was chosen because of the business of my abduction being an MI6 operation."

"Bloody hell," Harry breathes, passing a hand over his face. "Firstly, they organise an operational sting without warning me, and now they send in one of their stooges to take my place. By the time I get back to work, Stonehouse will have a whole posse around him, ready to overhaul the section, his horse will be tethered to the security desk in the lobby, and all I'll be left with will be a desk in the broom cupboard …... and all this before I can say, `Howdy pardner!'"

"Harry, I think your analogy is little more than a product of an over-active imagination, and in defense of Six, in order for the sting to appear real, it was best neither of us were told in advance."

"Jesus, Ruth. I never thought I'd live to hear you sing Six's praises."

"I'm not," she says, reaching out to lay her fingers on his arm. "It's just that with him occupying your office -"

"He's in my _office_?"

"Of course he's in your office. Where else would he be?"

"Just so long as he doesn't think he can also commandeer my girlfriend."

Ruth smiles at both Harry's outrage, and his use of the word, `girlfriend'. "I'm hardly a girl."

"Oh, I know that," he says, his voice purring. "Girls hold no interest for me, while you, on the other hand …..."

Breaking eye contact with him, and removing her hand from his arm, Ruth takes a deep breath. Now is as good a time as any.

"Harry …..." Ruth says, pronouncing his name in a way she knows will always have his complete attention. "There's something …... I need to ask you, or more accurately, run by you."

He waits, hoping she'll get straight to the point, but she is waiting for him to give her all his attention. "What is it, Ruth?"

"I'm about to tell you something, and I'd like your …... opinion."

"Fine."

"Gareth Stonehouse has made me an offer. He's asked me to transfer to Six. He's offered me the position of Chief Analyst, where I'll oversee all the analysts at Six – in all sections – and there may be times when I'll need to liaise directly with the Home Office."

Ruth knows she could mention the more suitable hours, the significant increase in salary. She could mention that this is a management position, which has implications for her future, where a position as Head of Section would likely be hers in under three years. But she doesn't. She is watching Harry's face, in an attempt to read it. His eyes are watching her carefully, and he is very still.

"I need to know, Harry …... what you think about that."

"What I think?"

"Yes. What do you think?"

"I think …... that I've never been more proud of you than I am at this moment. I think you would be perfect for the position, and I think that you should accept it without question. If Five could create a position like this for you, I would be pushing for it as we speak, but there isn't the money, nor is there the structural need for it."

"Is that what you really think?"

"That is what I think, Ruth."

She can't help the disappointment which lies beneath her joy at his words. "But what do you feel about it, Harry?"

"Feel?"

"Yes. How would you feel were I to transfer to Six?"

"I don't want to tell you how I feel about it, Ruth?"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want my feelings to influence your decision."

"So …... you feel differently from how you think."

"In this case, yes. Have you accepted the offer?"

Ruth shakes her head, and for the first time in several minutes, she looks up into Harry's eyes.

"I haven't, and I won't."

"Why not? This may be the break you need, Ruth."

"I ….. I'm ashamed to say that I've been testing you …... testing us. Stonehouse made the offer first thing this morning, and it took me around ten minutes to make my decision – which I have not yet communicated to him. I put it to you …... to assess your reaction. Had you wanted me to stay at Section D – for any reason at all – and had you begged me to stay, I may have re-thought my decision. As it is …..."

"You were checking to see whether I'd try to stonewall you. Ruth," and he reaches out to take one of her hands in his, "I would never do that. I know how much you value your independence. Don't stay at Section D because of me. Were you working with Six, we could still see one another."

"I know. I'm staying at Thames House because I'm happy there. I like …. working there ….. and despite the pay being less that I deserve, I want to remain there …... at least, for now. And that decision is only partly because of you, although …..."

"Although what, Ruth?"

"One of the many reasons I'm happy where I am is because of you …... but not because we're …..."

"We're dating, Ruth. No secrets there. Everyone knows."

"They do?'

"They're spies. They're paid to notice things."

Ruth breaks contact with Harry, and steps away from him. "I like working with you, Harry. You're mostly reasonable, personable at times -"

"Only at times?"

"Yes. Sometimes you're a grouch, but I even rather like that. I almost always know where I stand with you …... in the workplace, at least."

"Only in the workplace?" Ruth can see that Harry is hurt by her words, and she internally kicks herself. He has been injured. He is not at his best. This is not the time to be discussing their relationship.

"Outside the workplace, you're a puzzle – a bewildering, perplexing, frustrating, and engaging puzzle, and I wouldn't have you any other way," she says, leaning in to kiss him.

Harry enjoys the kiss, sliding his good arm around her, and pulling her to him. "I could say the very same thing about you," he says, once the kiss has ended. "But that is one of the reasons I love you."

Ruth leans back, and slightly away from him, surprise evident on her face. "You just said you love me."

"Of course I love you, Ruth."

Suddenly the door opens, and an orderly pushes a trolley into the room. "Time for your lunch, Mr Pearce," the orderly says.

"Time for me to head back to work," Ruth whispers, bending to kiss Harry goodbye, and then she is gone.

Harry sighs heavily as she leaves the room. Part of him is afraid she is running from him, while another – wiser – part, knows that she simply needs time to herself to think about what just happened. He knows she'll be back.


	5. Chapter 5

Four days later:

"And don't forget the physiotherapist. He's coming at 11," Ruth says, lifting Harry's newsaper in search of her phone.

"Do I have to?"

"The sooner you have full use of that arm, the sooner you can be back at work."

"And the sooner Gareth Stonehouse can be packed off back to Six."

Ruth stops looking around the kitchen, and turns to Harry, who is still sitting at the table, a cup of coffee to his right, the newspaper open in front of him, reading glasses perched on his nose. Ruth thinks he looks edible, but is not about to share that with him. He'll only take it the wrong way.

"Have you seen my phone?" she asks.

"No. Maybe you left it in your room."

Maybe she did. Ruth hurries upstairs to the guest bedroom, where she hasn't even made her bed. Hurriedly, she grasps the edge of the duvet, and lifts it, laying it over the bed as evenly as she can, given she's in a hurry. She hears a clatter, as her phone falls off the duvet to the polished wood floor. She is still fiddling with it when she enters the kitchen to say goodbye to Harry.

"I hope it still works," she says absently.

"Why shouldn't it?"

"I dropped it on the floor."

He reaches out with his hand. "Here, give it to me. I'll check it over for you."

Ruth takes a breather while Harry scrolls through Ruth's phone, checking that all her apps are working. She watches him as he squints in concentration. She has just spent her third night at Harry's house, and they fit together like hand in glove. They are compatible, comfortable together, and she hasn't been this happy since she was living in Cyprus.

But Cyprus is another lifetime, and she no longer thinks of it. She can't allow herself to dwell on it. Whenever thoughts of Cyprus ooze in, she remembers how George's life was sacrificed. He was disposed of as easily as a beetle is crushed underfoot ….. as though his life was worth nothing. Ruth cannot think about that. Whenever she revisits that day, she always ends up in tears – tears of regret and self loathing. She is not regretful that she returned to London. How can she be? She regrets having accepted George's first invitation to dinner. She regrets having drawn him into her life. She had not expected her past to catch up with her, but it had, and now she pushes her regret, her guilt, back into a box, and she places that box on a shelf – high up, where she cannot reach it, nor can she see it, and from where it cannot damage her emerging life with Harry.

Ruth smiles as Harry hands her the phone. "It seems fine," he says, gazing at her over the top of his glasses.

"Thank you. Ring me if you need anything," she says, still smiling at him.

They hold one another's eyes for a long moment, until Harry speaks.

"You haven't even kissed me this morning."

So Ruth walks around the table, and leans down to kiss him, while he holds the back of her head with his hand, rubbing his thumb lightly along her jaw. The kiss lasts longer than a morning goodbye kiss should, and she resists the urge to move a little closer, and touch his skin. In just over thirty minutes, she will be at work.

"This is a little like being married," he says quietly, after they pull away from one another.

"Without the arguments," she adds.

Ruth leaves the house, thinking that being married to Harry might be rather nice. At the same time, Harry is wondering should he have capitalised on that moment, and again asked her to marry him. By the time he pours his next cup of coffee, he has convinced himself that another marriage proposal from him would be a very bad idea. He would much rather that next time – if there is a next time – Ruth be the one to do the asking.

* * *

At 5 o'clock, Harry decides it's time to begin preparing dinner. He'd managed to restrain himself, ringing Ruth only once that day – around ten minutes before Paul, the physiotherapist, was due to arrive – and she had talked him through why it was best he answer the door to Paul, and not pretend to be out. He has just finished peeling and dicing the carrots, when he hears the slam of the front door, followed by Ruth's footsteps down the hallway.

"Gareth Stonehouse is an evil man," she says, as she appears in the kitchen doorway.

"Hello to you, too," Harry says, meeting her beside the table.

"Be careful with that knife," Ruth replies, pointing to the sharp, vegetable knife Harry still holds in his hand. "As I stand here, I'm devising plans for how I could best put it to good use."

Harry reaches down and kisses her, holding the knife behind his back, while his left hand rests lightly on her hip. "It's lovely to see you. I've missed you." He frowns at her. "Aren't you a little early?"

"I could do with a drink, and I mean something stronger than tea or coffee."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

Harry puts the vegetable knife on the counter top, beside the vegetables, and pours them each two fingers of whiskey.

"Water?" he asks.

"No thanks. I'll have mine straight from the bottle."

"Via a glass, I hope."

By the time Harry sits at the table, Ruth has already downed half her whiskey.

"Should I ask how was your day, Ruth?"

"Best not. It was diabolical, and have I said that Gareth Stonehouse is clinically insane?"  
Harry is not sure how best to handle this Ruth. He wants to comfort her …... hold her close to him until she feels better, but he suspects that approach would not be welcomed by her. He waits until Ruth has finished her whiskey, and then watches her, his hands folded in front of him. When she holds out her glass for a refill, he shakes his head.

"Not until you talk to me," he says.

Ruth sits back and folds her arms, a gesture Harry can't remember ever having seen her use. Her eyes smoulder darkly, as she glares at him. "Today Gareth shared with me that he is currently working on a plan for dismantling Section D. He has the ear of the DG, and he's been having `secret' meetings with the Home Secretary. From there, it's only a hop, step and jump to a parliamentary hearing, and then ….."

Harry has heard it all before. For four years – beginning just before Ruth had gone into exile – Harry has been hearing rumblings about the exorbitant waste of money that is Section D. At least every other year, he has listened while another consultant has addressed security services' middle management, stating the economic indulgence of running a separate section for home-grown anti-terrorism. The argument is always the same – terrorism on British soil almost always begins elsewhere, so why not concentrate resources at the source.

Harry sighs, gazing at this passionate, caring woman with what he hopes she can see is love for her. What had his life been like before she'd stumbled into it? He remembers his cynicism, the hard shell from inside which he'd protected himself from all manner of threats, both real and imagined. Ruth had – over time – cracked that shell wide open, until here he sits, almost naked before her.

"That's nothing new, Ruth. I've been deflecting attempts to dismantle the section ever since Cotterdam. There are those within MI6 who wish us to `join them'. It's hardly news."

Ruth is still looking at him with fire in her eyes. She is angry and upset about something else. "There's more," she says. "Today, Stonehouse was looking over my shoulder while I was working, and he made a comment about the amount of work you expect me to do. I ignored him, so he again made noises about how much happier I would be at Six, and then he said something that had me holding my tongue, and listening."

Harry waits, but she has dropped her eyes, and is fiddling with her glass. Ruth is stalling. She is clearly uncomfortable. Harry reaches towards her with his hand, but does not quite connect with hers.

"Tell me, Ruth. How bad can it be?"

"Bad," she says, her eyes again seeking his. "Gareth said something like: `Perhaps we have a way of making you see things differently,' and then he walked away. Some …... sixth sense had me picking up the phone to ring Andrew Allen. After all, I have a connection with him …... since he saved me, and then shot you. He's on desk duty until his next assignment, which he tells me may be months away. He asked me to have a coffee with him at a café near the river. It was there he told me something he wasn't able to say over the phone."

"What, Ruth?"

"He told me that he'd received a kill order, and that my abduction had been for that purpose."

"To kill you? Why would Six want to kill you, and a week later offer you a job?"

"Not me, Harry. Andrew was ordered to kill you."


	6. Chapter 6

"_Me_? Are you sure about that?"

"He shot you in the chest, hoping you had chest protection. Had he meant to kill you, he would have aimed for your head. He fired a second shot into your upper arm to make it look like he meant business. His being stuck behind a desk for the foreseeable future is his punishment …... for not completing the task. He has made it clear to his superiors that were you to die in mysterious circumstances, he will tell all."

Well …... he hadn't expected that. For once, Harry is lost for words. He has known for some time that he is an unpopular figure with The Establishment. Unpopular is too soft a word. There are those in the MoD who actively hate him, and who want him retired, and out of the way. At 56, he is old enough to take retirement, with full pension. There are days when he longs to walk away from it all, taking Ruth to live somewhere safe …... with him. But there is a part of him which wants to stay and burrow under the skin of those who wish to destroy that which he has given the best years of his adult life to building and nurturing.

Has it been worth it? Harry used to believe that the personal sacrifices he has made, for the safety and security of the citizens of the country he loves, has been worth it, but he can now see that his efforts may have been for nothing. He has wanted his legacy to be an efficient and smooth-running section, staffed by skilled and dedicated people. When he leaves, he will most likely leave little more than a hollow space, filled only with a collection of memories, shared by those who have worked with him.

"Harry ….." Ruth's voice is quiet, concerned. "Speak to me. What are you thinking?"

"Am I an old fool for wanting to make a difference, Ruth?"

"You're neither old, nor a fool, and you have already left your mark. I can only suggest that you either go back to work, and keep your mouth shut and your head down, or …... or you can leave …. with me."

"You're leaving?"

"Harry, I can't work for an organisation which sanctions murder …... especially when the target is the man I love." Ruth notices the look of shock on Harry's face, but she continues. "And I don't much care who it is behind all this. If this kind of thing can be normalised - and it will be - then I don't wish to be part of it. I don't want to have to bury you. We have not come this far, struggled through separation from one another, and the deaths of so many valued colleagues, for you to die in some senseless act of fear, or even vengeance. I will not allow that to happen."

Harry pours another two fingers of single malt into Ruth's glass, and tops up his own drink with a splash of liquid amber. He watches closely while his whiskey sloshes slowly up and down the sides of the glass, until it settles, and then stills. He lifts the glass, and swallows, all the time watching Ruth, who in turn is gazing at his face, trying to read him.

"What you've told me reminds me of what happened in 2003 …... to David Kelly," Harry begins, his voice calm and quiet.

"UN Weapons Inspector …... and former MoD biological weapons expert. He was sent to Iraq to assess whether there were weapons of mass destruction. Was 2003 when he died?"

"Yes, only now there is mounting evidence that his death wasn't a suicide, but he was probably murdered. He became the fall guy, and all those in the government who sanctioned a faked document to ensure public support for Britain being part of the invasion of Iraq …... they all stood back and feigned shock and sadness. It's clear to me that was one occasion when the JIC messed up."

"But it was suicide, wasn't it?"

"Ruth …... I knew David. No matter how low he may have been at the time, how powerless he felt when he became the patsy, suicide would never have been an option for him. He was Bahá'í. He would never have abandoned his family, his community in that way."

"You're suggesting he was murdered, Harry."

"I have no doubt, and if Kelly can be murdered, then I'm an easy target …... and eminently disposable."

"So, you'll leave the service," Ruth says quietly, watching her drink, almost afraid to maintain eye contact with him.

"I'll go back to work – on Monday – and I'll pretend nothing has happened. I'll do my job, and not even complain that Stonehouse has dropped the seat of my chair by 4 inches."

"He is rather a tall man."

"And he always enjoys looking down his nose at me. No, I will not complain. I will not ask where the hell is Lucas. I won't even moan when the Home Secretary rings me, demanding my presence in his office, when I'd much prefer to meet him in my own office, from where I can watch you."

By the time he has finished speaking, Harry is smiling.

"I think we need to have an exit plan, Harry," Ruth says, her expression serious.

"You're not talking about a suicide pact, are you? We haven't even slept together, and I've been rather looking forward to that."

A slow smile suffuses Ruth's features. "I'm also looking forward to it …... the …... sleeping together bit. I've had an idea buzzing away inside my head all day. I may as well tell you about it."

Both watch one another across the table. There is a long moment during which they each wait, while they closely examine the face of the other. Being Ruth's idea, she must be the one to begin.

"This is rather radical, Harry, but the idea won't leave me. Firstly, you have to answer one question honestly."

"Alright."

"Do you love me in the way that you want to be with me for the rest of your life?"

Harry hadn't been expecting that. He sits back in his chair, and takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," Ruth says quickly, dropping her eyes to her hands, which have begun winding around one another. "Bad idea. I had no right to ask you that, especially after I turned down your marriage proposal."

Harry again leans towards her, and reaches across the table. "I was taken by surprise," he says. "It's usually me making the moves on you, Ruth. I hadn't expected that question. Of course I want to spend the remainder of my life with you. I have for some time now. I've been trying to -"

"Get yourself killed."

"No, Ruth. I've been trying to tread carefully around you. I hadn't meant to tell you I love you, but it just slipped out."

"I think this deserves a celebration. A pot of tea. What do you think?"

* * *

They sit together on the sofa, sipping their tea, while Ruth shares her plan for their future …... a plan which, while perhaps not ensuring Harry's future safety, will give them both a better chance of living a long and stress-free life together. Harry asks many questions, and after an hour, he is satisfied that she may be on to something.

"I have two more questions, Ruth."

"Only two?"

"For now. The first is, will you come away with me this weekend? I have something I'd like you to see."

"Can't I see it here ….. in this house?" Ruth's eyes twinkle with mischief.

"No, Ruth. What I have to show you is in Cornwall. In Bude."

"A weekend away. Alright ... that might be nice. What's the other question?"

Harry turns slightly on the sofa, so that he is facing her. He reaches for her hand, and holding it, he says, "Will you share my bed tonight? I don't mean for sex …... I …... I'm not quite ….."

"Match fit?"

Harry smiles into her eyes. "That's right. I'd like to …... wait …. at least until I've had my stitches removed. I'd like our first time to be …..."

"Amazing?"

"I can only hope for amazing, Ruth. I'd at least like to be well enough to …..."

Ruth realises Harry is embarrassed, so she reaches up to kiss him. "I'm sure you will, Harry. I find you …. extremely sexy, and that's usually a very good start. In the meantime, I'll share your bed …. if that's what you want."

"It's what I want."

* * *

After dinner is over, and they've polished off a bottle of wine, they climb the stairs together. Harry uses the bathroom, and once changed, he gets into bed, while Ruth heads to the guest room to change into her pyjamas, and then to the bathroom, to perform her bedtime rituals. When she reaches Harry's bedroom, he is lying on his side, facing away from her.

Once she removes her bathrobe, and slides under the duvet, he is gazing across the bed at her, his eyes dark and penetrating.

"Can I put my arm around you?" he asks.

Ruth nods, and then shuffles closer to him, while he lifts his good arm to allow her to lie next to him.

"This is really nice," she says, once Harry's arm is around her shoulders, and his hand pulls her even closer, so that her face nestles against his arm, close to his chest.

"Mmm," he replies, and then he leans down to kiss her.

The kiss is chaste, and rather brief, and Ruth understands why. It is a goodnight kiss, and as such must not be allowed to lead any further.

"When do your stitches come out?" she asks.

"Tomorrow."

"That's good."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, Ruth."

* * *

_**A/N: While non-Spooks characters in this fic are my own creation, weapons expert, Dr David Kelly is (was) a real person. The story of his life, and then his death, can be read about on the internet.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Thanks again to readers, followers, and especially reviewers of this story. The direction of this fic may appear to go a bit sideways, but that is what happened as I wrote it. I'm not sure if it's believable, but I'm not aiming for believable. M-ish.**_

* * *

On the following day – Friday – Harry has his stitches removed in the morning, and Ruth takes the afternoon off, so that they can set off early for Cornwall.

"You probably shouldn't be driving," Ruth observes, noticing how Harry occasionally removes his left hand from the steering wheel so that he can rotate his left shoulder.

He ignores her comment, but after they stop for a comfort break at a roadside petrol station, he asks Ruth to take over the driving for a while.

"Maybe we should have left this trip for a few weeks," she suggests, guiding the car back on to the A303. "Another two weeks wouldn't have hurt."

"The sooner we do this, the sooner we can …..."

Harry has no need to finish the sentence. Ruth understands his meaning. Once she has the car safely in a stream of traffic, she steals a glance at her companion. Harry is attempting to appear relaxed …... but he's not, and whether that is because she is the one behind the wheel of his car, or because his arm is painful, it is difficult to tell. Ruth decides that it is probably a little of both.

After Ruth has been driving for around a half hour, conversation between them peters out, and then she hears Harry's familiar light snore. He is still on pain killers, and they have made him drowsy. She turns on the radio, and adjusts the volume so that it provides nothing more than background sound. Harry has it tuned to Radio 3. Of course he has. What else could he tolerate as he manoeuvres his car through London's morning traffic?

With a little less than an hour to go before they reach Bude, Harry wakes.

"When did it get dark?" he asks, sitting up straight.

"Just after sunset."

He turns to look at Ruth, and on seeing the smile on her lips, he smiles back.

They are only ten miles from Bude when Ruth pulls over, so that Harry can again take the wheel. He drives them to their B&B, which is in the centre of town. It is an impressive, Edwardian structure, its whitewashed walls glowing brightly in the light cast from the street lamps. Ruth breathes in the sea air, the slight wind chilling her skin, as she darts from the car to the porch of the B&B. With there still being a few weeks until the summer season begins, they have been given a comfortable room on the top floor, the view from the double windows overlooking the canal, and the sea beyond.

After dinner, they decide on an early night. After the night before, when they had spent the night together in Harry's bed, the prospect of sharing the plush, queen size bed in their room at the B&B renders them quiet, as they each contemplate what may be about to happen. This time, Ruth is first into bed, and Harry crosses the room from the en suite, dressed only in a green t shirt, and a thin pair of pale grey track pants – which leave little to the imagination. Ruth watches him all the way, and is still watching as he climbs under the duvet, resting his head on the pillow beside hers.

"Saw you watching, Ruth. Did you like what you saw?"

"I …. I wasn't …..."

He turns his head to look at her. He knows it was a cruel thing to do, but he needs to break her barriers of reserve. He wants her, but he is not prepared to manipulate her into becoming intimate with him. He'd done that with Jane, and it had ruined their sex life, which had never fully recovered.

"Ruth, it's alright that you were watching me like that. I liked it …... in fact, I loved it."

"You wore different pants last night …... they were thicker, and less …."

"Revealling ….. I know. And yes, I wore these deliberately. I don't want intimacy between us to take place in the dark, under covers."

"I'm not a prude, Harry."

"I know you're not, but …... you're reserved with me, and you have no need to be. I'm just a man."

"You're not `just a man' to me. You're someone different from ….."

"So, were I Dimitri, we'd not have to have this conversation."

"Harry, were you Dimitri, not only would we not be having this conversation, but I'd definitely not be happy were he in this bed …... with me."

"That's good to hear," he says quietly. "I have all the same drives and desires as any normal man …... just as I know you have all the same desires as any woman." Harry turns on his side to face her. "I'm not about to do anything you're not happy with, Ruth. I'll wait until you're …... ready."

"So …... you don't want sex now?"

"That's not what I said. Every time I see you, I want to make love to you, but I'm going to wait until you …..."

"Initiate it?"

"Yes. That's what I'm saying."

Harry knows he has said enough. He suspects that Ruth has been waiting for him to make the first move, but with this woman, he wants to do it differently. With the ball firmly in her court, Harry reaches over to kiss her goodnight. Her response to his kiss is warm and enthusiastic, which bodes well for the remainder of the weekend.

* * *

Harry has a disturbed night. He has decided to give up the pain killers, and although the only residual effect is a stiffness and soreness in the muscles in his left upper arm, he does not sleep well. He blames the different bed. The mattress is soft, and the duvet thick and warm. Beside him, he hears the soft breathing of the woman he loves. It cannot be any of those things – since all of them bring him comfort and security. He suspects it is the threat hanging over him, a threat which is little different from any of the other personal threats he has had to face, but this time he has someone close to him, someone whose life he values, and whom he wishes to protect. On the other hand, it could simply be his dodgy left arm which is keeping him awake.

When Harry wakes, he is alone in bed, and he hears the shower running in the en suite. He is in desperate need of a pee, and the sound of the running water doesn't help, but nor does he wish to walk into the bathroom while Ruth is in the shower. Eventually, the water stops running, and after a few more minutes, Ruth enters the bedroom, wrapped in a bathrobe. Harry barely has time to greet her before he springs out of bed, and almost runs to the bathroom.

It is still early, with over an hour until breakfast is served, so Ruth drops the robe from her shoulders, and climbs back into bed. She lies against her pillow and reads until Harry has finished in the bathroom. With one ear on the en suite, she hears him urinate, then flush the toilet, and then he has a rather short shower, before he again enters the bedroom. When he removes his bathrobe, he is wearing only his thin grey track pants. Ruth is surprised by Harry's naked torso. She had expected his skin to be loose, even flabby, but despite the thickening of his waistline with age, his body appears firm. This time, she openly assesses him, while he watches her. She is sitting up in bed, so she knows that Harry's gaze will be on her own skin, of which there is quite a lot showing.

Once he is again in bed beside her, Ruth leans over him, and kisses him. The kiss soon becomes passionate, and she feels his hands on her waist under the duvet. Ruth rolls against him, her own hands sliding across the skin of his chest and sides, and then down his back to the waistband of his track pants. Under the pads of her fingers, she feels him shiver. When they pull away from one another, his fingers are sliding up her stomach, under the thin fabric of her camisole – blue, to match her eyes. They each look into the eyes of the other, and the questions are there, still unspoken.

"Harry," she begins, and he removes his hands from her skin, and again rests them at her waist. "I want this …... now …... but there's a problem …..."

Harry's frown brings his eyebrows a little closer together.

"It's just that …... we have to consider positions, now that your arm is compromised."

He nods, but is still frowning.

"What I mean is …... the obvious alternative is for me to be on top, but …... for our first time, I haven't the …... confidence to do that."

Harry nods, and for the first time since she began speaking, he smiles. "What about we stay like this?" he suggests. "On our sides, facing one another."

"There's only one thing with that. It's difficult for me to say this, so I'll just say it. The man has to be …... _you_ have to be of considerable size for it to be satisfying for me."

Harry wants to smile, and he even wants to laugh. More than anything he wants to hold her against him – closely against him – for her to know just how adequate he is. "I think you'll find -"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," she says, interrupting him.

"Ruth …. I wore these pants, and showed myself off to you so that you'd be forewarned."

"Forewarned?"

"So you'll know what to expect when it comes to …... coming together." He watches her face for a few more seconds, and then says what he's been wanting to say for the past few minutes. "Ruth …... would you like to touch me …... there?"

Ruth smiles widely. "Can I?" she says.

"You'll have to eventually. Intercourse would be difficult were you to -"

He is stopped mid sentence by Ruth hand sliding inside his track pants, and around his now rapidly growing shaft. "_God_," is all he can say, as he rolls on to his back, and pushes the duvet from his body. The next words he utters are, "Don't stop."

Neither of them stop. Once they have begun, stopping is out of the question.


	8. Chapter 8

Breakfast is a slow and lazy affair, with them sitting across the table from one another, stealing glances, before quickly looking away ….. anywhere but into _those_ eyes, where they can so easily drown.

"I'm not really all that hungry," Harry confesses, picking at his buttered toast.

"I'm starving," Ruth counters. "You can pass on to me what you don't eat."

Harry's smile is slow as he reaches across with his thumb to wipe a fragment of egg white from Ruth's bottom lip. "There was a little bit of egg …." he says.

"Likely story. You just want to touch me."

"True, I do. Now I've tasted you, Ruth, food just doesn't do it for me."

For the first time since before they had made love, Ruth blushes. "That sounds like a line, Harry. I'll bet you say that to all your conquests."

"And here was I believing it was you who'd conquered me."

"Whomever it was did whatever to whom …... that was still a corny line."

"True," he adds, "but this time, I mean it."

"So …... you've said it before?"

"I might have."

"And on those occasions when you `might have', you didn't always mean it?"

"Maybe. Ruth, those occasions were all so long ago."

Ruth drops the subject, but Harry is aware that by being honest with her, he also risks offending her. There is still a lot she doesn't know about him, and it's best she learn that slowly, one thing at a time.

* * *

It is almost 10.30 by the time they drive through Bude. Ruth comments on the architecture as they weave through the street, but it is when Flexbury Park Methodist Church looms into view that she asks Harry to stop. The spire on top of the clock tower reaches to the heavens in a gesture of hope.

"It's beautiful, Harry. Who'd have thought the Methodists would go for Gothic?"

"I've always liked the stone work," Harry replies, smiling at her as she gazes through the windscreen at the impressive structure in front of them. "I believe it's now a listed building. My mother also loved it," he adds quietly.

"Your mother? You've holidayed here, haven't you?"

"My family spent a number of summer holidays here. When I was small, we'd spend a week each summer in Newquay, but then my father discovered Bude. He enjoyed fishing in the canal, and so after that, we'd come here." Harry smiles across the cabin into Ruth's eyes, as he turns the car northwards out of town. "When I hit my teens, I dreaded summer holidays here, but other people holidayed here, and some of them had teenage daughters. That's when holidays in Bude again became attractive."

Ruth reaches across to touch Harry's forearm, brushing her fingers along his sleeve. "Harry of the wandering eye," she says, smiling at his profile, enjoying seeing him so relaxed.

"Not any more, Ruth."

"I should hope so, too."

He turns left down Ocean View Road, and then right, traveling slowly along a narrow road which runs parallel with the coast. They drive past two new housing developments, and then turn towards the coast, away from the bright, white new houses, and holiday cottages for rent. Eventually, Harry slows the car, and stops outside a cottage, perched on a headland, overlooking the coastline, with a view back towards Bude.

"Next you'll be telling me you own this house, Harry."

Harry's silence draws Ruth's eyes to him, and he is looking at her, a small smile on his lips.

"You do, don't you?"

Harry nods, and then he unbuckles his seatbelt, and leans across the gap between their seats, and kisses her gently, and for a long time. "I thought this could be our safe place, Ruth."

"When did you buy it, because it was only two days ago that we talked about getting out of London."

"I didn't …... buy it, that is. My father left it to me when he died. I hadn't ….. seen much point in having it until now. I always planned to do it up, and perhaps spend time here when I was older. I wanted to leave it to my children, but neither of them have ever shown any interest in it, so I've put off having it renovated."

Ruth opens her door, and gets out of the car, and Harry follows. The house is patently in need of repair, but it's potential is clear to anyone who sees it. It is built from stone, the walls topped with a steep slate roof. Watching her face as she gazes up at the cottage, he can see she is entranced. Harry follows her gaze to the turret windows in the sloping slate roof.

"There's a large room under the roof space. I think you'll like it," he says.

An overgrown path leads from the surrounding fence – also in need of repair – to the front door.

"I love that shade of blue," Ruth says, pointing to the door.

"The whole place will need a good going over," Harry says. "I'm dreading seeing the state of the inside."

"You've had no-one keeping an eye on it?" Ruth asks, as she heads down the path ahead of him.

"I did, but she died …... not long after you went into exile, and at the time I just wasn't interested in going to the trouble of finding someone else."

Harry takes a bunch of keys from the pocket of his jacket, and opens the front door. Ruth sees he is nervous, a side of himself Harry rarely shares with others. She walks into the house behind him, a smile on her face, her heart full.

The house is a mess inside. Between pigeons in the ceiling space, droppings of every kind covering the carpeted floors, rats and mice, and two broken windows along the back of the house, where it is clear the house has been broken into, it is uninhabitable. Harry leads Ruth up the stairs.

"This is the best bit, Ruth," he says, gazing upwards, his expression hopeful. "The upstairs is wonderful. I know you'll love it."

Ruth reaches the room at the top of the house after Harry, and she sees his face fall with disappointment before she takes in her surrounds. The room under the roof had been a playroom, he said. It is vast. It has also been lived in by squatters, and they had set a fire in one corner of the room, burned pieces of wood scattered between two piles of broken bricks. Three or four filthy mattresses, and equally filthy bedding litter the room. Bits and pieces of clothing are scattered everywhere.

"Oh, Harry," she says, stepping beside him, and grasping his hand in hers.

Harry looks down at her, and squeezes her hand. "I hadn't expected this," is all he says. He says nothing about the invasion of his property, or the mess they'd left. Harry drops Ruth's hand, and wanders around, lifting bits and pieces of dirty fabric, as if searching for answers. "I'll get someone in …... to clean this up."

Once he circles the room, he ends up back at Ruth's side. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wish I'd been more present, more alert about what had happened here." His eyes again take in the whole area. "I see this room as our bedroom. All it needs is an en suite, and some larger windows along the western side, facing the sea."

"Do you know anyone who can do that, Harry?"

"As it turns out, I do. While you were reading after breakfast, I had a chat with the guy at the B&B. I asked him who'd done the renovations on the house, and he recommended someone."

They step outside the back door on to a terrace – also in need of repair – and gaze across the coastline.

"You can't buy a view like that," Harry says, more to himself than to Ruth.

He then turns to her, and slides his arms around her waist. "Had we not decided ….. what we've decided …... I wouldn't have checked this place for another five years, and by then, it may have been burned to the ground." Harry kisses Ruth lightly on the lips. "What do you think of our future home, Ruth?"

"It has …... potential."

"_Very _diplomatic."

* * *

At lunchtime, they buy fish and chips, and eat it in the car. As Harry was locking the house, light rain had begun as drizzle, and by the time they have bought their lunch, the rain is pelting down. They eat slowly, since neither are very hungry, and Harry makes two phone calls. He introduces himself on the phone as Michael James, and Ruth looks out her side window, smiling to herself, as she listens to Harry spinning a story about he and his wife having just purchased a property, and needing it to be cleaned, painted and repaired, and renovated.

"Done," he says, once he has finished his second call. "We're meeting both contractors at the house tomorrow morning."

"Harry …... will you answer me something honestly?"

"Of course."

"Do you feel that I'm taking you away from your career?"

"Ruth, had I wanted to stay where I am, and risk another attempt on my life, then yes, but I've had enough. I'd had enough even before you returned to London. Now …... now I have a good reason for leaving – a good reason for living." He watches her as she picks at her fish, loving the way she examines each piece for tiny bones before putting it in her mouth. "By the way, Ruth, how do you like being Mrs James?"

"Do we have the paperwork?"

"Not yet. I only devised the legends fifteen minutes before I made the booking at the B&B."

"We'll need the records changed," Ruth added, "on the property register. Give Tariq a ring, Harry. I know he's done that before, and it's best done before we meet these builders."

After talking to Tariq, Harry closes his phone, and puts it back in his jacket pocket. "Mmm, not much of a day for sight-seeing. What do you suggest we do instead?"

Ruth smiles, not even looking at him. His meaning is clear. The term, opening the floodgates, pops into Ruth's head. She feels Harry leaning towards her, and then as he is about to nuzzle her neck, she pushes him away. "Not here," she says.

So Harry starts the car, and they drive back to the B&B.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry introduces he and Ruth to the contractors as Michael and Ruth James.

"Why those names?" she'd asked him the afternoon before, while they lay in bed after having made love.

"Common names are best. Something which doesn't stand out. We're having to live with these names for the rest of our lives."

"How come I get to keep my name?"

"Because I love your name. I love how it sounds in my mouth, and on my tongue."

He'd placed emphasis on the word, `tongue', and so Ruth had kissed him – deeply – and then much more enjoyable activities had replaced the conversation.

They'd followed Sandor and Jack around the interior of the house; Sandor had commented on what he saw needed doing, and Jack had taken photos, and written notes. There is a lot needs doing. It is in relation to upstairs that the most discussion takes place.

"You need to block off the southern end, and have a bathroom and a single bedroom built in the space," Sandor had said, his eyes taking in the whole area under the roof.

"We don't need an extra bedroom," Ruth explains.

"No kids, then?"

"No," Ruth replies, suddenly feeling guilty that she hasn't added to the world's over-population problem.

"Pity," Sandor replies, not even looking at her. "Kids can be a joy," he says, with an expression which suggests the very opposite is true. "The missus and I have four."

They spend an hour and a half going over every single repair and refurbishing in detail. By half past midday, they have a plan. Jack and his small crew will do the clean up, and change the locks, and replace any broken windows. While that is being done, Sandor will work on a quote, and some plans for the upstairs. They exchange phone numbers, and Harry gives Sandor his newest email address, the one he'd created for Michael James.

"If we can get hold of the right paint, and all the other bits and bobs, the whole job should be finished within 10 weeks …... hopefully less."

"That soon?" Ruth asks, as she wonders when it was `bits and bobs' had become building terms.

"It's the financial crisis," Sandor continues. "There's been little work for me and my men these last six months or so. We're all keen to get stuck into this place. With the right touch, it should come up a treat."

Ruth certainly hopes so. She can't help wondering whether Harry's faith in this man's abilities is founded in optimism.

* * *

Harry's first week back at work is chaotic, with him spending most of his time in meetings, most of which he has to be off Grid to attend. The threat to his life is never mentioned - by the Home Secretary, members of the JIC, or the other Section Heads. It is as though the bullet made it's way into his arm all on its own - a misdirected missile, meant for someone else. By the following Sunday, he is looking forward to spending his day off with Ruth.

"I'll come around to yours," she says, when he rings her Sunday morning. "Beth is home, so it would be awkward were you to come over here."

"You know what I'm about to say," Harry says over a lunch of chicken and salads, "about your living arrangements."

"As much as I would love to move in with you, Harry, I don't think it wise …. not now, and not after how I was kidnapped."

"I know, and you're right. It's just that I miss you."

They clean up after lunch, standing together at the sink, he washing and she wiping.

"I could throw this lot into the dishwasher," he explains, enjoying the touch of her shoulder against his, "but then, we wouldn't be able to do this," and he bends down to kiss her.

He turns to face her, so that he can slide his arms around her, pulling her close to him, as the kiss continues.

"Upstairs?" he says huskily.

"Mmm," she replies, nodding, running her tongue around her lips.

But then the doorbell rings, not once or twice, but three times in quick succession.

"Ignore it," Harry says, grasping Ruth's hand.

"It might be important. I think you should at least see who it is."

Harry sighs heavily, knowing Ruth is right. Ruth listens as Harry answers the door, but she cannot detect any voice other than his own. It is only when two sets of footsteps walk back down the hallway that Ruth hears a female voice, and she is sure she hears this voice utter the word, `Dad'.

"Ruth?" Harry says, as he steps into the kitchen, "I'd like you to meet my daughter. Catherine ….. this is Ruth."

Ruth has turned from the sink, and she moves to greet Harry's daughter. A quick look at Harry's face tells her that he is unprepared, and perhaps even a little embarrassed.

"Hello, Catherine," Ruth says, holding out her hand for Catherine to shake. "I was the one who left you a phone message when Harry was in hospital."

"It was only yesterday that I got the message. I've been in Palestine these past few weeks. I'm glad to meet you at last, Ruth." Catherine turns to look right into Harry's eyes. "And when were you planning to tell me about this?"

"About what?"

"About you having a girlfriend …..." Catherine turns towards Ruth, her eyes large. "You _are_ Dad's girlfriend, aren't you? I haven't just jumped to the wrong conclusion …... have I?"

Harry steps forward, placing a calming hand on his daughter's forearm. "Yes, Ruth is my girlfriend. She and I are …... together, but we're not yet living together."

"I think the correct term to describe us is that we're in a committed relationship," Ruth adds, helping Harry out. To illustrate her point, Ruth slides her arm through Harry's, standing close beside him, in full view of Catherine.

Ruth can feel the tension in Harry's body, but he relaxes when next Catherine speaks.

"I am so happy for you both. It's about time you had someone in your life, Dad. You can't possibly know how much I worry about you, living here all alone."

Catherine's visit is a flying one, as she is on her way to her mother's for the afternoon. In less than half an hour, she has gone.

"I think we need to bring her in on our plan, Harry," Ruth says, once Harry enters the kitchen from seeing off his daughter. "I'm going to need her."

"I hadn't wanted to inform anyone else, but in this case, I believe you're right."

"What about your son?"

"Graham? He won't talk to me. I was hoping to see him again before we set our plan in motion, but that's highly unlikely now."

"Perhaps, once the plan has been executed, Catherine can bring him in. It would be such a waste for you and he to never have the chance to resolve your differences."

"He believes I was the one at fault, and I have to agree with him."

"Nonsense, Harry. He's a man now. You've both decided it's easier this way …... to not pursue a relationship with one another, and that's cowardly on both your parts. He has to meet you half way, but you will have to be the one to reach out to him."

Harry takes another two steps closer to Ruth, and slides both arms around her waist, drawing her closer to him. Slowly, he bends closer, so that their faces are inches apart. Ruth reciprocates by winding her arms around his neck, her fingers twirling through his hair.

"Harry …..." she says, "before I kiss you, and definitely before I sleep with you again, I'm asking you to do something. This is for you, rather than me, but since I have influence over you …..."

"You want me to ring Graham?" Harry says, watching Ruth closely.

She nods, and then pulls his face close to hers, leaning towards him until her mouth is next to his ear. "Make an effort with him," she says quietly. "Maybe he won't want to speak to you, but at least you have to try."

Harry sighs heavily, before he disengages from Ruth. "I guess now is as good a time as any." he says.

"Take your phone into the living room. You need to be on your own when you do this."

Once Harry leaves the kitchen, Ruth pours herself a glass of wine, and sits at the kitchen table, silently asking Harry's son to be open to this overture from his father. When five minutes pass, and Harry hasn't returned to the kitchen, Ruth relaxes. _At least he's not shouting_, she thinks.

She keeps an eye on the clock on the microwave, and almost nine minutes pass before Harry returns to her in the kitchen. Best of all, he is smiling.

"He says he'll see me," he says, flopping down in the chair across from Ruth.

"Good. How did he sound?"

"He sounded clean …... and clear-headed …... and he didn't sound angry at all. He was always angry with me …... about everything. Catherine had already told him I'd been shot, and he even asked me how I was."

"Have you arranged when and where you'll meet?"

"Wednesday night at 8. He's prepared to come around here. Would you come around that night?"

"No, Harry. This is between the two of you. I'll only get in the way. You need to meet with no distractions."

Harry sighs heavily.

"You'll be fine. The phone call went well, so that's good sign. You can't allow what has happened in the past to affect your chances of forming a new and mature relationship with him in the present."

There is silence in the room, while they each contemplate her words.

"I believe you need to take your own advice, Ruth."

She looks up at him, this man to whom she has taken so long to commit herself.

"I suppose …... you are right."

"Upstairs?" he asks, his eyes bright.

She nods. "You bring the wine, and our glasses. We have quite a lot to celebrate."


	10. Chapter 10

On the evening Harry has to be home to meet his son, Ruth meets Andrew Allen at a coffee shop in Soho.

"What is this thing you have for coffee shops?" Ruth asks him jokingly, as she sits beside him on a padded bench, facing the door, so that they can both keep an eye on anyone entering the shop. "Most field agents I know practically live in pubs."

"It was a little over six months ago that I had my last drink," Andrew answers. "The section doctor told me I'm an alcoholic, and I either give it up, or die young because my reactions are not as they should be. Whatever it is I am, alcohol dulls my senses, and makes me forget who I am, which is why I'd used it. The down side in taking the edge off is that at my age, I need all the help I can get. If I can't go into the field, my life's barely worth living."

They sip their lattes, each watching the door.

"How's Harry?" Andrew asks at last.

"He's recovered ….. almost. Just some soreness occasionally."

"And you and he?"

"We're …... fine. No ... we're good."

"I have a reason for asking you here, Ruth. I feel a little awkward speaking to you about this, but your reputation as a reasonable person precedes you."

"Alright. Is there something I need to know?"

"I think there is. I'm telling you this because I like you, and despite his being a thorn in Whitehall's side – or perhaps because of it – I quite like Harry Pearce."

"You and I are in the minority, then." Ruth smiles as she looks up into Andrew's green eyes, clearer now than they were a few weeks ago. "Is Harry still in danger?"

Andrew waits at least three minutes before he replies, and when he does, his voice is low.

"Not that I know of, and I have done numerous searches."

"Should I do some digging around?"

"Absolutely not, Ruth. If my searches are tracked, then the worst thing they'll do to me is throw me in detention for a year or so. If they suspect you of the same thing, you'll be publicly humiliated, and Harry will be sacked. That's the best case scenario. Worst case would be for the hit on Harry to be reactivated."

"Why is it not still active?"

"Because several of us know. Tom Sargent knows - he assisted me in your kidnapping - and I believe that Lucas North also knows, although it's difficult to work out what's going on with Lucas at the best of times. If they don't know that you also know, then that is to your advantage." Andrew fiddles with his spare packet of sugar, while he thinks about what to say next. "My advice to you ….. and Harry …... is that you get the fuck out. You have to leave London, perhaps even leave the country altogether. You need to resign, and disappear. Weird things are happening in the service, and no-one is completely safe, and there's nothing the Home Secretary or the PM can do about it. People like Harry – individuals with their own slant on how to do their jobs – are being targeted. I don't like it. I'm being kept out of the field in order to teach me a lesson. Oh …. that's not what I'm being told. I'm on light duties in lieu of stress leave. Can you believe it? I've been working in war zones on and off for the past twenty years. In all that time, I've never taken stress leave, although many others have. I thrive in a crisis. Desk work is shitting me off no end."

Andrew rattles on about his gripes with the security service. Privately, Ruth wonders why he doesn't just resign, and get a job with a private security company.

"I'll talk to Harry about this," Ruth says at last. She doesn't trust Andrew enough to tell him any more, but she likes him enough to thank him for his information.

Ruth is on her way to her nearest bus stop, when Harry rings.

"Can you come around here – now?" he says, without preamble.

"How did it go?"

"Good. It was much better than I could have expected. Can you get here …. to mine? If you have to grab a taxi, I'll pay."

"Harry, I can pay for my own taxi. I'll see you in a bit."

Harry is at the door when she presses the doorbell, and he lets her inside, and once the door is closed behind her, he pulls her into his arms, and kisses her soundly. It is only after a very long moment that they pull apart.

"Will you stay the night?" he whispers against her ear.

After a kiss like that, there is only one possible answer.

"Of course I can, but …..."

"But what?"

"I didn't bring a change of clothes."

Harry pulls away from her, and looks at her with a slight smile on his lips. "So, we leave here a bit earlier, and I take you home to change before we head into work."

"What about Beth?"

"What about her? Two days ago, I overheard her telling Dimitri and Alec that you spent Sunday with me. They're not blind, and they care."

Ruth pulls away from him, and heads down the hallway to the kitchen.

"I have something to tell you," she says, sinking her body on to a chair at the table, while Harry begins making tea for them both. "But first I need you to tell me how tonight went."

"It went surprisingly well. I can now see how much my son is like me. He's strong-willed, he takes life seriously, is often surly, and unnecessarily suspicious, but he's also very loyal. It turns out he also has met a girl he cares for deeply, and she has been encouraging him to reconnect with me."

Ruth smiles up at him, glad that he now has his family around him, with no-one left out in the cold.

"We're going to have to include them in our plan, Harry, and find a way for them to be …... involved in our lives …... afterwards."

"I know. I've been thinking the same thing. It would be unfair to just …... walk away."

"Darling, it would be monumentally unfair of you to reconnect with your children, and then leave their lives. They need to be informed, but closer to the time, I think."

Harry is still grinning at her use of the endearment. Neither he nor Ruth are comfortable with the language of affection, although they clearly enjoy the physical demonstrations of their love for one another.

"I …... I had an interesting evening," Ruth says, and then tells Harry about her conversation with Andrew Allen. "He's afraid, Harry," she concludes. "And I think he knows far more than he's saying."

"Allen has a reputation for being fearless," Harry comments. "It's not like him to worry about the powers that be."

"I think while behind a desk, he's had too much thinking time. He's been on report duty."

Harry grimaces, and then looks into the dearest eyes he knows. "I may have to act sooner than expected. As it turns out, I have the details sorted, and the relevant people on stand by. The only obstacle is the house. It won't be ready for weeks."

"Then stay in a B&B, or a hotel. You have your income set up, don't you?"

"Yes. Michael James is rather a wealthy man."

"Then, we can act when it suits us, rather than when we are forced to."

They climb the stairs to bed, but get stuck on the first landing, when Harry decides that it is the right place and time for a decent snog. When his hand sneaks under her jumper, Ruth bats it way, and then grabs his hand, and leads him up the stairs.

"The bedroom's this way," she says, smiling back at him.

* * *

They are both rudely drawn out of a deep sleep by the insistent ringtone of a mobile phone.

"I think it's yours," Harry says drowsily. "Do you want me to answer it?"

"No. That would result in too many awkward questions," Ruth says, leaning across to grasp her phone. "Hello?" she says, pushing her phone under her hair, to get it closer to her ear.

Harry watches her the whole time, remembering their lovemaking from only hours earlier, and again feeling a stirring between his legs and deep in his belly, as he listens to Ruth's voice, husky with sleep. However, in his heightened state of arousal, Harry has not been listening to the conversation Ruth has been having with her caller. Suddenly she turns to him, and holds out the phone.

"It's Alec, and he needs to talk to you," she says. "An hour ago, Andrew Allen's body was discovered in a vacant house in Chigwell."


	11. Chapter 11

After his phone conversation with Alec, Harry hands the phone back to Ruth, and sighs heavily.

"Am I implicated in any way?" Ruth asks, her face barely disguising her fear.

"No, you're not even in the picture," Harry says, putting his arms around her, and drawing her close to him, as they lie back against their pillows. "The police are looking for a prostitute he was seen picking up somewhere in Walthamstow, as she is believed to be the last person who saw him alive." Harry again sighs, and pulls Ruth closer, so that her head is against his shoulder. "MI6 have two safe houses in Chigwell. One is in use, while the other hasn't been used for over two years."

"You're saying it's an inside job."

"Most likely. I think we need to put our plan into action, Ruth. Today."

"_Today_?"

"Yes. I'd been thinking that we need to act within the next week, but Allen's death, and within hours of having spoken to you, is too close to home."

"Who could be behind it?"

"Anyone and everyone. I've always though MI5 to be factional, but MI6 is rife with paranoia. I'll take you home for you to get changed, and then I'll drive us both into work. Operation Mr and Mrs James will be put into action a little after mid afternoon. I won't be able to say goodbye to you at work, Ruth, so ….." Harry looks down at her with one eyebrow raised.

"We have to make the most of …... now."

Harry nods, before reaching down to kiss her. The kiss is different. This is the closest thing to a goodbye kiss since that freezing morning in 2006, when Ruth had to go into exile.

Their lovemaking is slow and sensual, each holding the other's eyes throughout. In the weeks and months ahead, this is what they will each be remembering as they close their eyes, ready for sleep, not knowing how long it will be before they can be together again.

Afterwards, they stand under the shower, their arms around each other, while the water cascades over them, and they, almost oblivious to their surroundings, share sad smiles and quick kisses, while the water runs like tears down their faces.

By the time they reach the Grid, Ruth and Harry have said all the words they need to say to one another, and are ready for ther roles as professionals. Before they leave Harry's car, they share one last kiss.

"The cameras," she reminds him.

"To hell with the cameras. I need to kiss you," Harry says, before he kisses her again.

* * *

Ruth ensures she is busy all day. She spends her day between her desk and the registry, so that when she re-enters the Grid in late afternoon, and sees Harry's office empty, and the light off, she knows that The Plan is already in action.

"Does anyone know where Harry has gone?" she asks no-one in particular.

"Were I to hazard a guess," Tariq begins, "I'd say he's gone to meet Lucas."

Ruth makes a face. "That can't go well, then."

"Why? Lucas is one of ours."

"Are you sure about that, Tariq?"

"I thought you liked everyone, Ruth."

"I do, mostly, but that doesn't mean that everyone is …... trustworthy."

Ruth wouldn't normally speak this openly on the Grid floor, but today is different, and she's feeling both worried and rebellious. She realises that she wishes to be remembered, and yet she's not the one who won't be coming back to work ever again. She puts her head down, and slips on her headphones. When feeling unhappy or disturbed, some translating always gets her out of herself.

So, Ruth is surprised when she feels someone sit down in the chair next to her. She lifts her head to look into the eyes of Alec White.

"Thought I'd bring you up to speed with the Andrew Allen murder," he says. "A 30 year old prostitute from Walthamstow has been arrested, but she declares it was all an accident, and that they were playing some sexy version of Russian roulette."

"Likely story."

"I know you were meeting him last night, because -"

"I told you."

"Just keep it to yourself, yeah?"

"I have. Only Harry knows. And you."

"Good. You have nothing to worry about, then." And Alec gets up from the chair, winks at Ruth, and then swaggers back to his own desk.

Nothing to worry about? If only he knew.

* * *

Ruth stays on the Grid until 10 o'clock, and then she makes her way home by bus. She has her safe phone – the one which only has the number from Harry's safe phone as a contact – on, and near her at all times. They have agreed that even though the communication between them is most likely safe, they must still use it only sparingly. When she goes to bed, she places both her phones close to her, on her bedside table, and she sleeps fitfully. She is thankful that Beth is spending a few nights with her mother, and so she has the flat to herself. She'd rather be sleeping at Harry's house, and in Harry's bed, but that might arouse suspicion, especially since he never returned to the Grid after he'd left in late afternoon.

Fortunately, no-one had commented on Harry's absence, and no-one had asked her where he'd gone. Had they, she would have had to fake an answer, because all she knew was that he'd gone home, and then he'd driven out of the city. That is all she knows, and according to Harry, it is all she needs to know.

So, when just after 5 am her phone rings, she wakens easily, and picks it up and answers. It is the police, and she is being called in to identify a body.

_Game on_, she thinks, as she climbs out of bed, and into the shower.

* * *

The body on the gurney is dressed in Harry's suit, with Harry's gold cufflinks and his pale grey silk tie. _God, I love his silk ties_, she thinks, as she observes the clothing which Harry must have carefully chosen only last evening, and then handed to this man, the same mortician who had arranged for Harry to view another unnamed body, this time a female – brunette, mid to late 30's – just 4 years ago. She glances up at the man, but he is gazing over her head, out of respect for her grief. Ruth has tears pouring down her cheeks, and she doesn't know why. She is rather a good actor, and has been know to act her way through tricky situations, but this is something much closer to home, and she is sensing a loss of control over her emotions.

At last, she looks at the face of the man on the gurney. He is in his 50's, with balding fair hair, and his face is very pale, his eyes closed. There are no visible wounds. She lets out a sob, which she knows to be a sob of relief that this man is not Harry, but some homeless substitute, some poor sod, alone and forgotten, who had died overnight …... perhaps from exposure or heart disease. She'd never know what had ended this man's life, this poor creature who has unwittingly stood in for her Harry, but she silently thanks him.

"How did he die?" she asks, looking up at the mortuary attendant, who gives her eye contact.

"Gun shot to the chest," he says clinically. "Death would have been instant."

Remembering her hour or so of horror at the hands of Klaus Bergen, Ruth begins crying in earnest, and pushes her hands over her mouth to staunch her cries. The mortuary attendant looks away, giving her the space to grieve openly.

"That's Harry Pearce," she says at last, and then quickly leaves the room.

Although it is not yet 7 am, Ruth heads into the Grid. It will be her duty to tell everyone. At 8 am she calls a meeting in the briefing room. Even Lucas is there. She has already rung the Home Secretary, and he was shocked and sounded rather troubled. The violent death of a section head doesn't bode well for the Home Office. It will be his job to call in his Press Secretary to word a public statement.

"Earlier this morning," Ruth begins, once everyone is sitting around the table, "I was called into St Thomas's Hospital mortuary to identify a body. The body was …... Harry's."

If the intake of breath wasn't enough to unsettle her, the questions which began with her announcement tip Ruth over the edge. She can again feel herself losing control over her emotions, and as she puts her hand over her mouth, she feels Beth's hand at her back.

"That's enough questions," Beth says to the others, her voice authoritative. "Just give her time to say what she has to say. Ruth?"

Ruth looked at Beth with what she could only hope is thanks, and then she takes a breath before she continues.

"Harry was shot. One shot through the heart. He died instantly. Yesterday, he left here to meet an asset. Stanley Lyon. He was someone Harry had not seen for some time, and the man was an addict. Crack cocaine. He didn't recognise Harry, and thinking he was the police, he …..."

"Must have been a crack shot," Tariq points out.

"Ex-army." Alec added. "I knew him. He was a sniper in the first war in the Middle East. Then he went a bit …... you know," and Alec winds his forefinger around next to his temple to indicate the man had lost his mind.

Only Ruth knows that Harry had gone out to meet Stanley, and that he's paid him a large sum of money to get out of Britain in a hurry, and to stay away.

"What's going to happen to Lyon?" Beth asks.

Ruth shakes her head. She doesn't know, but she can guess. The police, not being able to trace the firearm, will make up a story about Islamic insurgents loose on the streets of London. And the security services will live to fight another day.

"We should be out there looking," Lucas suggests.

"No. We shouldn't," Ruth replies. "Harry wouldn't have wanted that."

"You should go home, Ruth," Beth says at last.

"Yeah, go home," Tariq adds. "We'll hold the fort here."

Ruth nods, and the leaves the room to gather her belongings. When she leaves the Grid, she heads straight to Harry's. As she wanders around the house, she can still smell his scent lingering in the air in every room. She heads to his bedroom, and opens the wardrobe, where most of his clothes – his suits and shirts – still hang. She buries her face in one of his jackets, and stays like that for some time. Then, once she feels more herself, she goes from room to room, ensuring he has left nothing behind. To her eye, it looks exactly as it would, had he gone off to meet an asset, expecting to be home a few hours later.

By the time she is back at her flat, she is emotionally and physically exhausted. She has only just sat down with a cup of sweet tea, when her safe phone rings …... and about time, too.

"Harry," she says, bursting into tears.


	12. Chapter 12

"Sweetheart," he purrs, "whatever is wrong?"

"Nothing and yet everything," she says at last. "Where are you?"

"I'm in a _gîte_ just outside Reims ….. on the way to Laon. It's lovely here. So peaceful. Except for one thing."

"Which is?"

"I'll be sleeping alone. I wish you were with me. I don't suppose you feel like making a quick trip to France, Ruth."

"I can't possibly do anything out of the ordinary for weeks. They'll be watching me, and if not, then they should be."

Harry waits for a moment before he speaks.

"How did it go? The identifying, and then telling the team."

"It was awful. I hadn't meant to, but I cried throughout both events. The team are angry, I think. Your ….. demise …... seems so senseless, such an anticlimax."

"Yes, I agree, and if there's a weak point in our plan, then this is it. I don't want them going off to exact revenge."

"The only one likely to do that is Lucas, and as I've mentioned to you before, his mind is definitely elsewhere." Ruth hesitates before she continues. "I could be wrong, but I had the impression he had something up his sleeve for you, and …... your death has …... foiled his plans. Just a hunch."

"I …. the team need to focus on the jobs they were doing when this happened. It will be your task, Ruth, to keep them on track. Have you rung Catherine?"

"Not yet. I'll do that immediately this call ends."

They only speak for another couple of minutes, and then reluctantly end the call. Ruth then rings Catherine.

* * *

Catherine is staying with a friend in Shepherd's Bush, and hearing the tone of Ruth's voice, offers to come around right away.

Ruth decides to tell Catherine the truth. She and Harry had disagreed on this one point, with he wanting his children to believe him dead – to add authenticity at his funeral – but Ruth couldn't do that, not when she knows their father is alive and well somewhere in France.

"This is about Dad, isn't it? I saw something on the news this morning."

"That was about Harry, yes, but ….."

"But what?"

"Your father is alive, Catherine. He's faked his death."

Catherine is visibly shocked.

"Why would he do that?"

"I can't tell you that. It's ….."

"Classified, right?"

"That's right. I was the one who planned this. It's to keep him alive, Catherine. I don't want him dead, and I don't think you and your brother do, either."

Catherine is stuck for words, and Ruth senses Harry's daughter is not happy.

"Spit it out, Catherine."

"I …... I know I don't have a right to be angry, Ruth, especially now you and he are together. You are his family, and he's protecting that, but …..." Catherine stops, and quickly wipes tears from her eyes.

"He wasn't around to protect you when you were growing up," Ruth says gently, and Catherine nods, unable to speak. "He wants that to change. I know, because he's told me. He's a different man now to the one who was an absent father, putting his family last."

Ruth gives the younger woman time in which to shed a tear, and feel angry, and then even a little guilty about being angry.

"I shouldn't be feeling this way, I know, but I can't help it. Will there be a funeral?"

Ruth nods. "We can insist on it being invitation only …... a private funeral, if you like. After all, the man isn't even dead. If the big wigs want to have a memorial service at a later date, then they're free to do that."

"That sounds like a sensible approach. I'll talk to Graham. Is it alright if he knows?"

"Yes, but he musn't tell anyone …... not even your mother, and nor must he tell his girlfriend. At a later date, he can tell her that his father has moved out of London. It's best she doesn't know the details."

"He's not going to like that. He and Jade are close – like you and Dad."

"He must co-operate. Your father's life depends on it." Ruth allows her tone to soften. "I expect you will want to be at the funeral, but if Graham doesn't want to be there, that is fine. I don't think Harry is terribly interested in a funeral which isn't even real."

"When will it be?"

"In around a week, I imagine."

"And the body?"

"A homeless guy, dressed in a suit of your father's. He's even wearing Harry's underwear. Sorry ….. you don't need to know that."

* * *

Ruth spends the next five days arranging Harry's funeral. Beth helps out by making sure there is plenty of edible food, and and a supply of wine in the flat. Beth also treads gently around Ruth, but does not get in her way. Ruth has to keep reminding herself that Harry is not dead. She has only heard from him once since he'd disappeared, and she misses him. She and Catherine have agreed that the homeless man needs to be cremated, so the cremation is held in the morning, with only Catherine and Ruth in attendance, while the service is held in the afternoon, in the funeral home's chapel. Only senior members of Section D have been invited, as well as Malcolm Wynn-Jones. Ruth asks Malcolm to give the reading, and to Malcolm's surprise, she leaves it to him to choose the reading.

"Nothing soppy, Malcolm. He wouldn't want that."

Malcolm chooses _Departed Comrade_, by the Roman poet, Lucretius. Ruth agrees that it is an appropriate poem for Malcolm to be reading.

Throughout the service for Harry, Ruth can feel the love and concern for her from those around her, few as they are. She sits with Catherine one side of her, and Malcolm the other, while the senior members of the Grid sit behind them.

Once the service is over, and they are outside the chapel, Ruth can remember nothing of what occurred during the service. The day has been an upsetting blur, and her chief feeling is one of guilt. She feels guilty for having to lie to people she cares about, and at the top of that list is Malcolm. When and if Malcolm ever discovers that Harry is alive, he will be very hurt, perhaps even inconsolable.

Ruth has been on the verge of tears all afternoon, and so is relieved when Catherine makes excuses for them both, and drives Ruth back to Harry's house. The group of officers from the Grid head straight to the pub, to `give Harry a decent send-off'. Malcolm hovers around, waiting for the others to drive off, before speaking privately to Ruth.

"I know how much you'll miss him, Ruth. When I heard you'd been seeing one another, I was so happy for you. I can't imagine …..." And Malcolm can no longer speak, his voice beginning to break. Ruth squeezes his hands, and then waves him off to join the others.

"I'm glad my brother decided against attending the funeral service," Catherine says, as they sit on the sofa, a bottle of white wine on the coffee table in front of them. "He would have hated it. And my biggest fear had he been there, was him making a grand announcement after the reading that Dad isn't really dead. Graham loathes the secret service. He hates what it did to Dad, and by extension, what it did to our family."

"Your father still holds a lot of guilt about how his choices affected Graham."

"It's not all Dad's fault, and Graham knows that. Our mother didn't help at all. In retrospect, when anything went wrong in our family, in our lives, she'd find a way to blame Dad for it."

"It can't be easy being married to a spy, especially when you're not one yourself."

Catherine nods, and tops up their wine glasses. "It must help, being in the same business."

Ruth nods. "It does. It helps a lot. I understand the …. pressures he's been under, and the …... secrets he needs to keep."

* * *

While Ruth is sitting with Harry's daughter in the sitting room of Harry's house, two men are huddled in conversation in front of a fire in a men's club in central London. They are surrounded by wood panelled walls, highly polished wooden tables, and a parquet floor, over which are scattered brown leather chairs and chesterfield sofas. The identities of the two men are hidden behind the wide wings of their leather chairs.

"They buried Harry Pearce today."

"I heard he was fired," says the other, and they both laugh at the tasteless play on words.

"It will save us the trouble."

"I take it you're not planning to go after his killer …... that Lyon fellow. They're saying he also killed your chap from Germany …... Allen, wasn't it?"

"Whoever did it, if we ever run across him – and that is unlikely – we're more likely to give him a citation, than we are to lock him up. He did us a favour. He did the service a favour. The Queen should knight him."

Both men chuckle, and sip their drinks – one a whiskey, the other a gin and tonic.

"Bloody Pearce! Couldn't stand the sight of him. I was in here the day he glassed Oliver."

"Mace?"

"Yes. Oliver Mace. Arrogant sod."

"Who – Mace?"

"No. Harry Pearce. Oliver needed stitches. Three, I think. Maybe four."

"Should have killed him."

"Should have killed who?"

"Oliver Mace. He brought disgrace upon us all. Harry Pearce, on the other hand …... he was a dangerous swine. Too damned clever."

"Yes. Too damned clever for his own good. Well, we got him this time."

"Actually, Roger, _we_ were not the ones to get him, but it hardly matters. At least someone got him, and the bastard's dead."

"What about the woman?"

"What woman? You mean, the Evershed woman?"

"Yes. She and Harry were at it, I believe. She's an analyst. A fine one, too. She has a fine pair on her, too. I can see what Harry saw in her …... although I never could fathom what it was she saw in him."

"We offered her a job …... with us. Gareth spoke to her. He's back there now – in Harry's office - filling in for him until a permanent appointment is made."

"Did she take the job?"

"No. Turned him down flat. They're saying she's now a bit of a mess …... about Harry. Well, she would be, wouldn't she, especially if she was his mistress. She'd be no good to us now, not if she's pining over a dead man. Good thing she turned us down."

"Sounds like a good week all round, then."

"Yes. A very good week."

"Cheers."

"Mmm, cheers. Bloody good week."


	13. Chapter 13

Two weeks after Harry's `death', Ruth returns to the Grid. She is bored and upset at home, with too much time for thinking, which translates as too much time for catastrophising about Harry. He had rung her the day after his `funeral', and she'd cried into the phone, as she'd described the day. They'd talked for a while, and then Ruth had suggested that she be the one to ring him, as talking to him, and yet not knowing how long it would be until they saw one another again, was proving difficult for her.

"I'm not a field spy," she tried explaining to him. "I don't lie terribly well, and I've done nothing but cry ever since you left. When we talk on the phone, all I do is cry."

"Isn't that what you're meant to be doing? Aren't you meant to be grieving my death?"

"Yes, but you're not dead, Harry. Imagine what a mess I'd be were you really dead."

Harry had laughed softly into the phone, and she had been torn between telling him off, and being turned on.

"I know I'm being awful to you," she added, "and I'm sorry. How are you, anyway?"

"Worried about you. You're having to bear the brunt of everything, and do all the work."

"Not all of it. Catherine's been a help."

"That's good. I'm glad."

They both listen to the other's breathing, before Harry again speaks.

"As much as I want to speak to you as often as I can, Ruth …... if you're finding it difficult, then maybe …..."

"Perhaps if you leave the phoning to me," she replies. "I'm not terribly good company for anyone at present. I want you here – with me – and I know I can't have that, and I'm angry …... and I don't even know who it is I'm angry with."

"Feel free to be angry with me. I'm the one having a holiday in France, after all."

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Not really. I no longer know how to enjoy myself unless I'm with you."

"Sex is not the only enjoyable thing we share, Harry."

"I know. I'd just be happy to hold your hand." He waits a few seconds, listening to her breathing at the other end of the phone. "This will be worth it in the end, Ruth. I promise."

"I know it will."

* * *

It takes Ruth another six weeks of being back at work for her to feel that she is again into the rhythm of her job. Of course, her job can never he the same again, and she doesn't know how long she should wait before she gives notice. Then she has a disagreement with Gareth Stonehouse over her own filing system – which has worked well for the past year, and no-one has yet complained about it. They have a shouting match in his office, during which she calls him insensitive and reactionary, and he fights back with unstable, old-fashioned, and hormonal.

Being old-fashioned is something Ruth is proud of. It's the words unstable and hormonal which have her storming out of his office – _Harry's_ office – and slamming the door so hard, it slips off it's track, and get's stuck part-way, so that Gareth, being a large man, has to slip sideways through the gap in order to get in and out of his office.

When Ruth reaches her desk, she slumps in her chair, finding herself close to tears – again. Beth comes to the rescue, and suggests they go for coffee.

"How long since you've taken leave?" Beth asks, once they are sitting at a table close to the window, so that they can people-watch, should their conversation dry up.

"I took two weeks leave when Harry …..."

"Right …. but apart from that. How much leave do you have owing?"

"Lots. I just never see the point in taking leave. I get bored when I'm on holiday."

"Look, we all know Gareth is a fool, but we also know that as soon as they find a replacement for …... when that happens, Gareth will be gone. Take indefinite leave, Ruth. Take it now. You're meant to give notice, but you and Gareth just don't hit it off, and no-one can blame you for that." Beth winds her spoon around inside the coffee cup, heaping the froth to one side, as though she were shovelling snow. "Were it me …... and I'm not decent like you, Ruth …... but were it me, I'd wait until 5 o'clock today, and present Gareth with a letter requesting you take leave, as of today. You don't even need to give a reason, although something along the lines of `irreconcilable differences' might be the way to go."

So, Ruth has a plan for the remainder of the afternoon. Firstly, she approaches her junior analysts, and informs them of her decision, and divides her tasks between them. Secondly, she writes her letter of resignation from the security service, and on her way to the exit, she places the letter on Gareth's desk, noticing the door had been removed completely. Gareth had left the Grid for a meeting, and had not returned. Ruth is relieved that he is absent from the Grid, and she'll never have to set eyes on him again.

Ruth does not say goodbye to any of her colleagues. Other than Beth, who shares her flat, she does not expect to see any of them again. This saddens her, but she knows that it is the right thing to do. They believe she is still grieving for Harry. She's not. She's angry and sad and confused, but doesn't quite know why. She also still cries for no good reason.

On the way home, she visits a cash point, and withdraws her daily limit - £500. She needs to leave a trail which says: _I am leaving the country, and I may not be back_.

During the following three weeks, she spends most of her time at Harry's house. Occasionally, Catherine drops by, and together they go through his things, sorting out what he might want to keep, and what can be given to charity. Some items – such as furniture and whitegoods – will stay in the house, since Catherine plans to use the house as her London base.

"It's like he really is dead," Catherine says, as they go through the chest of drawers in Harry's bedroom.

Ruth is annoyed with herself when she begins to cry …... just small sobs.

"Are you alright, Ruth?"

"I think I must miss him more than I realise."

"Do you feel alright, apart from missing Dad?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, really. I just thought you might …... have some idea."

Ruth goes back to Harry's underwear drawer, thinking to herself that making obscure comments must run in the Pearce family.

As they had originally planned, Ruth rings Harry each week. At the end of the third week after she'd left the service, Harry has some exciting news.

"The house is ready, Ruth. I'm on my way – via a train ride to the Netherlands."

"Have they emailed you photographs?"

"Yes. It looks lovely."

"Can you email them to me?"

"No."

"No? Why?"

"I want the first sight you have of it to be when you arrive."

"Oh, Harry," and again Ruth has to swallow hard to prevent herself from crying.

* * *

Two nights before Ruth plans to catch the Eurostar, she has dinner with Catherine and Graham. She has not yet met Jade. This is Catherine's idea, and Ruth thinks it's a good one. This is Ruth's first time meeting Graham. She is shocked by how much he reminds her of Harry. It's not that he looks like Harry, although there is a vague family resemblance. It's that the younger man has so many of Harry's mannerisms – a pronounced pout, a tendency towards jaw-jutting, frowning until his forehead resembles the bellows of a piano accordion, shoving both hands in his pockets while he listens intently to what is being said. This time, the reminders of Harry have Ruth on the verge of laughter, rather than tears.

"I think you've been good for Dad," Graham says, after she and Catherine begin on their second bottle of wine. Graham is off all substances, including alcohol, and his grey eyes are clear and startling, in much the way as are Harry's. "It's clear to me that something has changed him, and now I've met you, I can see your influence on him. So …... thanks for that."

"You don't have to thank me, Graham. I love your father. Despite what you may think to the contrary, I have found him very easy to love. There's a sensitive man beneath all the bluster."

Outside the restaurant, Catherine and Ruth hug goodbye, and Ruth shakes Graham's hand. They have exchanged phone numbers, and Ruth has promised to keep in touch with them both. She promises also to ensure their father keeps in regular contact with them.

Ruth has a whole day in which to pack her few necessary possessions, plus some of the things from Harry's house which she'd like to have as keepsakes. They are all silly things, really …... a small china ornament of a dog, which Harry has told her looks exactly like his dog, Scarlet, who'd died while Ruth had been in exile; the pen from his desk in his home office; the spoon with which he insists eating soup; his favourite coffee mug, and his gold silk tie. She wraps them all in tissue paper, and puts them in one of the side pockets of her holdall.

She has a doctor's appointment at 4 o'clock, and she considers cancelling, but then decides to go, just in case there is something seriously wrong with her. Beth had remarked to her only two nights earlier that she might be in need of some vitamins, or a tonic. Ruth thinks it wise to be on the safe side. After all, she'll need to be at her best if she is about to traipse half way across Europe, and then back home again.

Ruth gets home from visiting the doctor just as Beth arrives home from work.

"You're early," Ruth remarks.

"You're right, you know. Stonehouse is certifiable. He expects me to spend all day behind a desk."

It is over their last dinner together that Beth casually asks about Ruth's doctor's visit.

"I'm fine," Ruth replies. "I'm just run down. It's …... to do with Harry dying, and before that, the kidnapping. It's my body's way of telling me to take a holiday."

"Quite right, too."

When Beth leaves for work in the morning, the two women hug goodbye.

"I'm planning to be away for a while," Ruth says carefully. "I don't know when I'll be back. If you want to move out before I get back, just ….."

"I'll give all your stuff to charity, right?"

"Right." It's clear to Ruth that Beth knows she has no intention of returning to London.

Ruth has everything she needs. Besides, most of what she is leaving behind reminds her of Cyprus, and George, and Nico, and Jo's death …... and she'd rather not be reminded of any of that.

Four hours later, Ruth is on the Eurostar, on her way to a new life.

She had booked a room for seven nights in a small suburban hotel in Paris. On the day after her third night, she leaves an art gallery by a rear door, and collects her bag from where she'd left it in a locker in the Gare du Nord train station. She has paid cash for her train ticket, and plans to spend 2 or 3 days in Amsterdam. Ruth had not been to Amsterdam, even during her exile, and she makes a mental note to suggest to Harry that they add it to their Grand Tour …... should they ever get around to it.

From Amsterdam, she flies to Manchester, and there she picks up her used Ford Focus, with only 25,000 miles on the clock. Ruth happily presents her ID, as Harry has already paid for the car, and had it registered in her name – her new name, Ruth James.

She puts her holdall on the back seat of her car, and carefully drives south. She is on her way …... back to Harry.


	14. Chapter 14

It is lunchtime the next day when Ruth slowly eases her car into the driveway of the cottage at Bude. She had been too tired to drive all the way to Bude in one afternoon, so had spent the night in a hotel in North Bristol, ringing Harry just before dinner time, and feeling bad when she heard the disappointment in his voice.

"I'll be there tomorrow," she'd said. "That's definite."

"When?"

"Probably just before lunch - late morning, maybe. I'm tired, Harry. I need to rest."

"Sorry, Ruth. It's just that I'm so looking forward to -"

"I know. I know."

Once the call ended, Ruth had felt bad, but it couldn't be helped. Better she rest than risk causing a pileup on the M5. Besides, she'd wanted to take her time driving through Exeter. She'd planned to drive past her family home, the one where she and her mother and father had lived, before her father had died. She needed to allow time for that.

Harry's new car – a silver Peugot – sits under the carport. That tells Ruth that Harry is home. She could announce herself, by sounding her car's horn. She could slam the door and call out, or she could just walk quietly around the back of the house, and surprise him.

She chooses to surprise him.

She hears him before she sees him. Even before she reaches the back of the house, she recognises the clunk of a hammer on wood. She waits just by the corner of the house, while she watches the muscles in Harry's back and shoulders strain with holding the length of wood steady, while he hammers a nail through the crossbeam, and into the upright. An electric drill lies on a chair beside him. Harry is building a pergola over the terrace.

Ruth smiles. Suddenly, the last almost twelve weeks away from him are erased. They no longer exist, other than as a rather painful memory.

Harry takes another nail from his pocket, carefully places it, and continues hammering. Ruth remains statue still, watching how his body moves as he performs this unfamiliar task – to her eyes, at least. She can see by the way he directs the hammer cleanly on to the nail, that he is familiar with DIY. Suddenly, he stops hammering, and stands very still, as though listening for a sound from behind him. Ruth is absolutely silent, so she knows that Harry can feel her presence. That is how things have always been between them. There is an electric current which joins them, so that when one of them is close by, the other can sense their presence.

Ruth is about to call out to him, when he turns. They stand where they are – she beside the corner of the house, with Harry ten yards away, on the far edge of the terrace, a hammer still in his right hand. The longest of moments passes as they each watch the other.

Afterwards, neither would be able to say who had moved first. Harry speaks first …... just Ruth's name, and nothing else. Then they each slowly move towards the other, and at the last moment, Ruth runs to him, and into his arms. The hammer clatters on the slate surface of the terrace, as he realises that were he to hug her properly, he'd need both arms. Kissing, speaking, silent touching will have to wait. They hold on to one another for the longest time.

"Come inside," he says, pulling away just a little, to give Ruth some breathing space. "I'd like to show you around."

He grasps her hand, and pulls her through the back door, now a series of sliding glass doors. "To let the light in," Harry explains. His excitement is infectious, and she smiles up at him each time they enter a new room. All rooms have been painted, but so far, the only room which seems finished and furnished is the kitchen.

"I haven't had time to furnish it yet," he explains, "other than our bedroom, because that's the most important room in the house."

"Here it is," he says. They have climbed the stairs, and are standing just inside the door to their bedroom. "What do you think?"

Ruth gazes around the space. Behind her is clearly the bathroom, and off to the side is a small bedroom. In front of her, directly under the roof ridge, their bed takes pride of place. Harry has already bought their bedding – white sheets and pillowcases, and the bed is covered by a large, plush, patchwork eiderdown. Ruth steps closer, and touches the eiderdown, and then she sits on the edge of the bed, and eventually lies along one side – the side closest the window which overlooks the sea – and rests her head on the pillow.

"Do you like it?" Harry asks, sitting on the opposite edge of the bed.

Ruth nods, and pats the bed beside her. "Lie down next to me," she says, smiling into his eyes.

Harry lies down, and the turns towards her, and for the first time in almost 12 weeks, they kiss. The kiss is one of longing, but the passion is held in check, while they run their hands over the arms and shoulders of the other. Once they pull apart, Harry's hands remain on her hips, while Ruth frames his face between her hands.

"I have missed this _so_ much," he whispers.

"Do you mind terribly if we don't …... have sex …... today? I've been feeling …... a bit off."

Harry leans away from her, to get a clearer view of her face. He had been looking forward to their reunion, and yes, he had been looking forward to the sex. He had been counting the hours.

"Is something wrong, Ruth? Tell me."

"You know how I've been rather emotional …... I've also been tired, and I've needed more sleep than usual."

"Ruth – are you sick? Is something wrong."

"What?"

"Tell me what it is. I need to know."

She reads the desperation in his voice, and shakes her head. "It's not …... anything bad. I think that Catherine believed I was pregnant," she says, shaking her head.

"And you're not?"

"No, of course not. The doctor said that living through the trauma …... from your supposed death, can put a strain on the body's systems. I couldn't tell her about the kidnapping, which I suspect is the real culprit. She also suspects I'm iron deficient, so I began taking supplements once I got to Paris."

"But you'll be alright."

"Now I'm out of the madhouse which the Grid has become under Gareth Stonehouse, yes …... I think so. I'm so glad to be home at last, Harry."

"And I'm thrilled to have you home."

* * *

After dinner, they head to bed early. While Harry is in the shower, Ruth checks out the small bedroom off their own bedroom. The floor space is minimal, but the ceiling is sloped, following the line of the roof, giving the room a spacious feel. She wanders around inside the space, imagining what they might do with it. For some reason, she can't let go of the idea that this needs to be a child's room.

She feels Harry standing behind her. His body is warm from the shower, he tucks his arms around her waist, and pulls her against him. "What do you think we should do with this room, Ruth?"

Ruth leans her head back against his shoulder, and rests her hands on his own hands. "The idea won't leave me that this is meant to be a child's room. I suppose you'll want it to be your study."

"I'm planning to set up the small bedroom off the living room as the study. We can share that, if you like."

"Alright. So, what do we do with this room?"

"What would you like to do with it?" he asks quietly, barely able to breathe.

"Harry ….." Ruth turns in his arms to gain eye contact. "We've not even talked about this. Neither of us is exactly young, and we're talking about bringing a new life into this crazy world."

"Is that what we're talking about, Ruth?"

"I don't know. I never imagined you'd want more children. You've already had your children, and -"

"I barely saw them while they were growing up. Even now, I barely know them. I'm not against the idea. It's just that you'll be the one …..."

"Pushing it out of my body, and getting up at all hours of the night."

"Yes. You'd be the one doing most of the work ….. at least, during the baby stage."

Ruth turns from him, and pulls out of his arms, heading through the doorway, and towards their bed. She had showered and changed straight after dinner, so she climbs under the patchwork quilt, and snuggles down, turning on her side to face Harry, as he joins her in bed.

"I need time," she says, "to think about this. It's a big step …... for us both. And …... we've barely been together as a couple for more than a few months, and here we are …... Harry, put like that, the idea of us having a child together is madness."

"I'll accept your decision, Ruth, whatever it is."

And they slide closer, until his arm reaches around her shoulders, and she can almost encircle his waist with her own arms. They lie that way for a long time, neither able to sleep, their sleeping alone having again become the norm.

"You know I never planned to fall in love with you, Ruth," he says into the dark, his mellow voice seeping into the silence.

"No-one ever plans it."

"I tried hard not to, and after you came back from Cyprus, and …... after everything else that happened, I actively resisted being alone with you. I tried so hard, but ….."

"It is what it is, Harry. We've always been drawn towards one another. We can't help what we are …... to each other. Perhaps we're meant to be …. like this. Perhaps we're meant to have ….. what it is we have."

"I hope you're right."

They begin to slowly sink into the mattress as sleep beckons …... and then Ruth again speaks. "You're used to being a powerful man, Harry. Your word, your presence was revered and feared by ... so many. I'm afraid that you'll …... miss that."

Ruth is sure he has fallen asleep, so long does he take to answer. When he does, she knows he has used the time to choose the right words.

"Power has it's dark side, Ruth. It's like a drug. Were I to choose between being powerful, and being loved, I'd choose to love and be loved every time."

Ruth's heart is overflowing. She turns to face him, and in his eyes she can see that he means every word.

* * *

_**A/N: This is the end of the story, but a (completely unnecessary and OTT) epilogue follows this.**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N:**** This chapter, the final one of this fic, is M-ish, so that's your warning. Thank you to all readers, followers, encouragers, and reviewers for your comments. This is more epilogue than chapter, and is not a terribly likely outcome, but just sometimes, it is fun to play around with H & R, and give them some opportunities they'd never be given on "Spooks". **_

* * *

18 months later – 4 days before Christmas, 2011:

"Shhhh," Harry says, finger across his lips, as he ushers his daughter and son through the front door. "No Jade?" he adds, his enquiry directed at Graham. Harry has hugged Catherine, and placed a parental hand on his son's shoulder in greeting. Although they communicate regularly by phone, it is almost four months since he has seen either of them.

Catherine and Graham remove their coats, and hang them on the coat rack just inside the door, before Harry turns, and shows them through to the kitchen, where he has already prepared a pot of coffee, and a cake, which he'd bought only that morning in a bakery in Bude.

"Jade couldn't come," Graham says, sitting at the table opposite his father. "She had to visit her father in Northumberland."

"If you want my opinion -" Catherine begins.

"You have no right to an opinion," Graham counters. "She has other ….. responsibilities – family responsibilities. I'm not her only family."

"It would be nice were she here ... that's all I'm saying. Where's Ruth? Is she resting?"

"She's in Bristol until 3," Harry replies. "She has a faculty meeting, and then she has two weeks off. She's due back at work on the 4th."

"But she's still only part time, right?"

"One day a week ….. and she volunteers one day a fortnight at the local library."

"And you go fishing," Graham says, one eyebrow raised.

"Only sometimes. I built the pergola," he adds, pointing out the window, where his structure sturdily protects the back of the house. "I'm rather proud of that pergola."

This is the first time his children have visited the house at Bude since before he and Jane had separated. - almost 25 years ago. They have met in Bristol on a few occasions, but this is the first family gathering since he'd faked his death. Harry is nervous. He wants this three day visit to go well. Privately, he is relieved Jade is not here, and with Catherine's Mark in Cambodia for the month of December, being maddened by the heat and humidity of the monsoon season, he is to be surrounded by his family …... all those he holds closest to his heart, now that he knows for certain that he has a heart.

It is Ruth who has saved him. He'd always believed that to _be_ somebody, to be worth something, he'd needed the job, and he'd needed to excel. Ruth has taught him that all he needs in his life is her, and to love her. If he does that, then everything else falls into place.

Harry is listening while Graham tells him about his new job, when Catherine suddenly interrupts.

"What was that? I heard something."

"It's just the wind," Harry says.

Catherine stands, and walks to the door, silencing the others, while she listens. "There it is again." she says, as she heads for the stairs, bounding up them two at a time.

Harry follows, but he is too slow. He looks back at Graham, and shakes his head.

It is little more than a minute later when Catherine returns, and in her arms she holds a baby, still in the process of waking up. When the baby stops rubbing her eyes, it is clear that she has her mother's startling blue eyes, and her father's sensual mouth. What little hair she has appears to be fair in colour. When she spies Harry, she leans towards him, her arms open, as if begging him to rescue her.

"If you woke, her, Catherine -"

"You need to live a little, Dad. The last time Graham and I saw her, she was only three months old."

Graham quickly joins his sister, and reaches out to grasp the baby's fingers, his face softening.

Harry watches from a close distance. He knows it is their right to have time with their new sister, but his instinct is still to fiercely protect her. He holds back the words, `Careful with her; don't drop her.' As if Catherine would drop her!

He and Ruth had taken some time to find one another again once they'd moved into this cottage. They had slept together chastely for almost two weeks, when one evening, while Harry was washing the dishes after dinner, he had felt Ruth at his back, as she slid her arms around him, and pressed herself against him. He'd allowed himself to sink back against her body, and closed his eyes. Ruth's hands had circled his chest, and then one hand had travelled down his belly, and then quickly to the front of his trousers, where she'd grasped him gently through the material of his trousers and underwear. He'd gasped, and his eyes had sprung open.

"Come upstairs," she'd whispered hoarsely against his ear, so he'd left the dishes, and quickly followed her.

He'd joined her on the bed, where she'd instructed him to lay on his back. Like many men, he loved it when the woman he loved was this forthright in the bedroom. For him, Ruth taking charge in this way was a massive turn on. He'd closed his eyes, and lay back against the pillow, and by the time Ruth had removed his trousers and trunks, he was fully erect, and close to climaxing. Then he lifted his head and watched while she lowered her mouth onto him, her eyes holding his the whole time. He came quickly, trying hard to not push his hips upwards. Afterwards, Ruth had lain beside him, her arms around him, while he lightly dozed.

"What was that all about?" he'd asked, after a ten minute respite.

"I thought I'd announce my intentions in a way which would grab your attention."

"You certainly have my attention," he'd replied, leaning down to kiss her, tasting himself on her mouth.

"I've decided that I don't want to share you with anyone else, not even a child we've created together."

Harry had waited for the rest of Ruth's explanation, but that was all she gave him. For him, it was enough, but he wasn't so sure about her.

"Are you afraid, Ruth?" he'd asked. "Are you afraid of having children with me?"

"Not really. It's not you I'm concerned about, Harry, it's me. I think I've been a single entity for too long, and now we're a couple, I simply don't wish to share you …. even with a child of ours."

The next morning, Harry had showered early, and then crawled back into bed naked. He'd brought Ruth from her deep sleep with the feather touch of fingertips along her inner thighs, culminating in the soft slide of his forefinger along her folds, while with his other hand, he'd caressed her nipple.

"That's not very subtle, Harry," she'd mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"No less so than your attack on me last night."

Her eyes had sprung open then, and he'd kissed her smile. What followed was their first lovemaking in over three months. Afterwards, they had both been near tears, but their emotion was fuelled by deep happiness and relief. They still had it. Together, they were still capable of reaching some deep well of feeling which before they'd come together had been out of their reach.

They were careful to not risk conception until just over five weeks later, when he had insisted they celebrate the completion of the pergola, and the planting of two passionfruit vines, one at each end of the sturdy structure which Harry had built with his own hands. It had been a warm August day, and the champagne they'd drunk had left them heady and careless. They had downed two bottles, accompanied by only a bag of crisps – Harry remembers the crisps were salt and vinegar flavoured - and Ruth had insisted she have more champagne, to accompany them. Neither were exactly drunk, but they were reckless, and when Harry had cleared one end of the table, and then with his arms around her, and his hands splayed across her bottom, his fingers sliding under the elastic of her pants, he had lifted Ruth so that she sat on the edge of the table, her legs spread either side of his body, the evening could only end one way.

Alexandra Ruth James had been conceived as a result of a wild and heady, passionate coupling on one end of her parents' kitchen table. Afterwards, he had lain sprawled across her, gasping for breath, while she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and held him close, her legs still around his waist.

Twenty days later, the pregnancy test which Ruth had purchased from the chemist, had delivered a positive reading.

"What do you want to do about it?" Harry had asked her …... very carefully, so as to hide his joy.

"_Do_ about it? I hope you're not suggesting I have an abortion, Harry, because I won't do that. I have a life growing inside me, and if this child wants to be born to us, then we must at least give it a chance."

Harry had grasped her, and pulled her to him, hiding his immense joy from her by burying his face in her hair, while she rubbed his back with her hand.

Alex hears her mother's step in the hallway before anyone else. She removes her mouth from the teat of the bottle, and twists in Catherine's arms, so that her very blue eyes are focused on the doorway. As Ruth steps into the room, the baby squeals, holding out both her arms for Ruth to pick her up. Ruth's first stop, after kissing first Graham, and then Catherine, is to pick up her daughter, and hold her in her arms, receiving a wet and open-mouthed kiss in greeting. She then carries Alex around the table to Harry, and reaches down to him to receive his kiss, and to smile as the baby says `Dada', and pats Harry none too gently over his left eye. She stands, Alex still in her arms, and Harry's arm around her waist.

"It's lovely to see you both," she says. "Everyone alright?"

Catherine and Graham nod. "We're good," they say, almost together. This is all so new for them. A Christmas without endless discussions about food, followed by disagreements about the appropriateness or otherwise of gift-giving. They know that this Christmas, they'll eat whatever comes out of the kitchen – and they'll pretend to enjoy it - and that the gift they share will be the company of their family members.

Harry glances up a the tableau of his wife holding their 7 month old daughter, while across the table from him, his two older children sit. They are about to spend almost three days together – four adults and one small child – and Harry hopes they make the distance, and that this Christmas won't be remembered as the one where it all went terribly wrong. He's never been happier, and he trusts the calm of his wife, and the foil of his newest child, as she charms everyone with her bright smile.

_This_ is his life, this is his success – Ruth, their child, and his two adult children – here now, to spend a few days with them.

This is what matters. Just this.


End file.
